Memories
by Vayluh Arwen
Summary: Fable 2. With death and pain all around her, can little Sparrow survive with her willpower intact, or will she succumb to the Spire's brutal regime? Can her heart keep the one thing more important to her than Lucien? Fable 2 c Lion Head Studios.
1. End

**End**

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

Michael, her husband.  
Rose Marie, her daughter.  
Mattie, her baby son.

Hannah - Hammer, Hannah from Oakfield, the Temple of Light.  
Theresa, the blind seer.  
Garth, the Will user.

Blade let her head flip over images, memories, names, voices, scrambling around her bed. Her escape was gone. He had taken it. He had taken her safety net, her book, the only thing she had left. Now she would have to improvise. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. She upturned the bedroll, scattering her few belongings, searching frantically through them.

_Come on come on come on..._ her mind ran, her hands hurling things aside, barely registering what she was doing. She could feel her memories fading. She could feel the way the Commandant leeched at her mind, dragging away everything she knew, everything she cared about.

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

She turned to the table, sweeping one thin arm across it, scattering everything aside.

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

Then she saw it. A glint on the floor, a slight shimmer, a sparkle of reflection from the candle on the wall. She knelt down, seizing the small kitchen knife, bringing it up to her. It was forbidden for her to hold a blade. The collar immediately recognised it, and started its squeeze.

Blade ground her teeth, forcing her grip around the knife to stay firm, sitting down, bracing her left arm against the table.

_Obey! You were told not to touch weapons!_

She didn't have long, soon the collar would conquer her completely. She didn't have time to prepare herself. She raised the knife and then forced it down into her flesh, ignoring the sharp, solid pain, ignoring the shouts in her head, ignoring the blood gushing down her arm. She bit down on her lip so hard she could taste blood, and yanked the knife towards her, cutting a long line in her flesh.

_**Obey**__! You must __**not**__ carry a blade! You __**must**__**obey**__!_

Without a second's pause she moved the knife up again, pushing it in deep again, another stream of pain moving over her, her head feeling like it was going to break, Lucien's voice echoing through her senses. The hand holding the kitchen knife was beginning to shake, sliding on the blood. She ignored it, slicing another line into her arm, curving it round, one small, jagged circle, and another, like a squiggle, and another.

Her head was bursting now, screaming in protest, her collar mercilessly tight, pain burning across her skin, the table below her covered in blood. She looked at the cuts, the wounds, the pattern they made, the one bloodied word hacked into her flesh, and then collapsed.


	2. Beginning

**Beginning **

"Blade?"

She turned, glancing at the other woman, a small smile moving over her lips, "Two whole winters and more have passed since we met. You're still calling me by my alias?"

Hammer shook her head, gesturing at the sword on her back, "Well, it's not as if I'm gunna _forget_, _am_ I?"

"Well, how would you like it if _I_ started referring to you as 'The Hero of Strength'?"

She shifted the giant war hammer on her shoulder, "Well. Kind of accurate in that case."

"Of course..."

Hammer smiled, but soon the expression faded. She hesitated. "So, did... did you convince them to wait for you?"

Blade kept walking down the hill to the docks. She didn't want to talk about this. Two summers hadn't yet passed since their marriage. But she loved him more than this entire world.

"_So... you're going... __**where**__?"  
_"_To the Spire."_

The look on his face... when she had told him. Since their wedding she had bore him two children; a daughter, Rose Marie, little less than a year old, and a son, Mattie, only a few months. The thought of leaving them - so young, so innocent, so vulnerable - pushed daggers through her heart. But she had to. She had to end this.

"_This is about Lucien, isn't it?"  
_"_Yes."_

Hannah was looking at her. A lock of her brown hair had fallen over her dark eyes. "Alright?"

She gave a small nod, "Yes. Yes, I'm fine."

The girl hesitated, and then seemed to get that she didn't want to talk about it. They kept walking, their pace unusually slow. Neither of them truly wanted to reach the dock. Both of them knew what would happen when they did.

Boy rubbed his cold, wet nose against the back of her hand. She glanced down at him and smiled, patting him behind the ear. Another of her faithful companions. At least he could be here now. She had refused to let the family come to Westcliff. It was a dark and bleak place. She would protect them with her life if she had to, and they would not step one foot here. This place, at least, she would not miss.

"_When will you be back?"  
_"_I don't know."  
_"_Days? Months? __**Years**__?"  
_"_I don't know."_

Her foot hit sand. Jaina glanced down. Then she lifted her eyes back to the horizon again. There was one boat in the quay. It left at noon, in less than an hour. People were already piling on, passengers and crew, big, burly men loading on large boxes of supplies. She drew in a deep, slow breath. And then started walking towards it.

"Wait."

She turned back to her, both relieved and frustrated to have been stopped, "What."

Hammer paused, and then shook her head, "Do you know what the last thing I said to my father was."

A slight frown crossed Jaina's face. Hannah had not said one word about her father since... since Oakfield. It didn't seem... _right_ that she was talking about him now. Not now, not here.

"I can't remember." She answered, quietly, "I can't remember whether I said goodbye that day. That's the thing about goodbyes. You never know if it's gunna be your last. I didn't -" she corrected, hastily, "I didn't mean it like _that_. You'll do _great_ out there. I _know_ you will. But..." she paused, thinking, then shook her head again, "Just hurry back."

She gave a small, soft smile, and nodded, gently, "I will. I'll be back before you know it."

"_I want you to move on. I want... I want you... to find a new mother for our children."  
_"_No."  
_"_**Please**__, Michael."  
_"_**No**__. I'll wait for you."  
_"_Michael, I could be in that place for -"  
_"_Jaina. I love you. I would wait... a __**hundred**__ summers for you."  
_"_And the children?"  
_"_They will know of you. If not in the flesh, then by word. They will know of you."_

"_Thank you."_

The shipmaster was coming towards them. She turned to him, gathering all of her strength. Oh Avo. This was it.

He looked down at her, calculating her, "So you're... _'Blade'_."

'Blade' nodded, easily ignoring his eyes, "That's me."

He continued looking her up and down, somewhat grudgingly, "Right. Now. _No_ personal effects allowed onboard, and no weapons... and _no dogs_."

Boy gave a low, soft whine. She ran her hand over his head, gently. She swore sometimes that he understood. He was _far_ more intelligent than most _humans_ she knew.

"Don't worry." Hannah offered, smiling, "I'll look after old fur-face here. And your stuff as well."

Jaina nodded, slowly. Then she pulled her pack off her shoulder, letting it down softly to the floor. She negotiated her crossbow off her back and then her sword. She looked at the blade for a moment, before reluctantly passing it to Hannah. That weapon was how she'd got her name. A Master Katana, a fine weapon in any case, but on top of that she'd given a bit of... _special attention_. In battle the blade heated like it was back under a blacksmith's iron, and the weapon fed her learning, making her next strike so much harder. When people had seen that in the Crucible the word spread. She was then 'Blade'.

She shrugged off her jacket, taking out the few blades hidden inside the fabric, and then reached down, unclipping a dagger from the inside of her shorts, sliding another one out of its place in her shoe. She reached to her back, yanking down a clockwork pistol from its place in the holster around her neck, placing down in the pile at her feet.

The shipmaster had raised an eyebrow, sceptical and incredulous, looking from her to the collection of deadly weapons. Hannah was just waiting. She'd seen her precautions before. Blade never liked to be without a blade.

Jaina pulled her hat off her head, and then dragged off the ballroom mask. Her brown hair fell down by her shoulders, and she glanced up at the man, expectantly, "Satisfactory?"

She didn't like the way his eyes moved across her pale skin. Manipulative. Almost like sick curiosity. The mask was a necessity in Albion. People recognised her wherever she went. Blade. The great Hero. Everyone knew her name. But, with a mask, she could simply take it off, change her clothes, and no-one knew who she was. She used this precaution for her family's sake. She didn't want anyone knowing her children were the offspring of a Hero. It was too dangerous.

"Yeah." He said, finally. He checked something on a small book he had in his hand, and then gestured to the ship with a rough jerk of his head, "On you go, then."

Jaina took a breath. She turned to Hammer and gave her a small smile, "See you soon."

"You better." She replied, firmly.

Boy lapped at her hand. She kneeled down to him, stroking his soft, silky fur, giving him a playful tap on the head. Then she got up, and walked onto the boat. The floor moved underneath her feet and she gritted her teeth. She could already tell it was going to be a long journey...

* * *

Things were a bit fuzzy after that. The journey _had_ been long, a few weeks. She had crossed the border, onto the Spire. She met a few other Crucible champions there, and others, others who had been chosen as guards or workers. Bob. Bob was one.

They'd moved up the walkway. Someone had said something about... _weird architecture_. The noise. The feel. Old Kingdom engineering. Something about... the sky. The darkness.

And then there was Lucien. He stood before them. Before _his people_. He looked older. Older then that night. The night he'd called them to his castle, to his study. Whatever the Spire was doing it was doing to _him_, _too_. He looked... a wreck. He addressed them. Talked about the wonders of his machine. Talked about... _something_... She couldn't remember. Everything was so hazy. His words flickered in and out. Then... nothing.

Then all that was left was the Spire.

* * *

Blade lay on her side. She kept quiet. The guards weren't needed yet, not _her_ section, anyway. She still had a few hours, she thought, before any of the others even _awoke_. She had never been much of a sleeper.

Her quill scratched on the page and she winced, freezing for a moment. No movement. No-one had heard. Thank God. If they found out she had this notebook... the punishments would be severe.

She continued the picture, gently sketching out the girl's hair. She was no artist. But it looked like it should. She didn't know how long she'd been in this place. She'd started the writings and drawings from the day she'd found the book, just lying around. She'd made a quill out of a bone, fashioned it, and for ink she used dirt, food... blood... _any_thing. She needed the book. It had everything. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Hannah. It had their faces, drawn in, carefully, labelled. She'd started keeping a diary. She didn't know the turn of the days, but she wrote whenever she could. Because she had to keep her memories. The Commandant wouldn't take them from her. She wouldn't let him. She _couldn't_ let him. They were all she had.

They were all she _was_.


	3. The Commandant

**The Commandant**

"You don't want to keep him waiting. _Trust_ me."

Jaina pulled in a deep, stabilising breath. The Commandant. What a title... Designed to provoke respect and fear, no doubt. And, by the way the rest of the guards talked about him... it was working. Even in Garth. When he used his Will to speak to her, to talk inside her head. She had heard it. Caution. Maybe even unease.

The Will-user had recognised what she was, of course. Know it from first glance. Introduced himself. And had told her whatever she was planning was useless with the collar.

She fidgeted with it, consciously. It was uncomfortably tight, the strange, cold metal pressing in around her throat, the spikes making it difficult to walk, difficult to move round corners. Apparently, at the moment, the Commandant was the only one able to activate it. Whatever _that_ meant...

She had reached the Commandant's chamber. She hesitated, her hand on the door. Then she shook her head, and pushed it open.

* * *

The Commandant was standing at the top of a short flight of steps, facing a view down to the docks, his back to her.

Blade hesitated, pausing by the door, and then shook her head, settling on a semi-polite courtesy, "You asked for me?"

He didn't turn: "Yes."

She looked at the back of his head, frowning slightly. His skin was impossibly pale, a ghastly white. He was bald, and strange sort of... _horns_ were coming out of the back of his head. She had never seen a creature like him before. He was dressed all in black, and an antique-looking sword hung from his belt.

She frowned again, tilting her head to one side. She didn't recognise it. That was odd. She knew _every_ sword, all the swords in Albion, even the Old Kingdom relics there were only rumours about. But this... this she didn't recognise. The blade was long and wide, and chipped slightly at the bottom, missing a chunk. The blade was silver, but dull, unpolished, with a T-shaped hilt.

"You're observing my weapon?"

She glanced up at him. He still hadn't turned. She nodded, slowly, "Yes. I was... _admiring_ it. Old Kingdom relic, yes? I've never seen one like it, and I know a lot about relics. Though it does look very much like the _Maelstrom_, a very old weapon created by the First Shadows." She cocked her head to the other side, looking at the weapon again, "The hilt looks almost like that of the Harbinger, a sword created by the twins Elda and Essa _centuries_ ago. It appears a unique sword. _Powerful_, I would imagine."

"Many would think the Maelstrom and the Harbinger a _myth_."

She cocked her head slightly, "Well. That's just because they've never _seen_ them."

"You know their locations?"

"One, yes. The other... maybe some day I will. Not today."

The man nodded, almost thoughtfully, his eyes still scanning the horizon in front of him, "You know a lot about weapons."

She gave a small smile, "I'm not called Blade for nothing."

"Your name is not Blade."

She frowned, "Sorry?"

He turned to her.

* * *

Blade almost flinched back. His eyes were a burnt yellow, his skin broken, shredded and sealed. It looked like someone had used his body for a cutting board and then done a bad job of covering it up. But those eyes... those eyes are what caught her. Emotionless. Empty.

Merciless.

Though she shook inside, Blade managed to keep an expression of vague curiosity on her face. Her eyes glimmered onto his throat. He had a collar around his neck too, but it was smaller than hers and without the spikes, allowing better manoeuvrability. Maybe it was a rank system, or something...

He took a few steps towards her and she forced herself not to back away, "I am the Commandant. _You_ are Recruit 273. That number is not random - it was assigned to you because I have broken two-hundred and seventy-two recruits before you. You are nothing more... than the next link in the chain." Seeming not to notice her sceptical raised eyebrow, he gestured to the walls around them, "You have been brought here to oversee the reconstruction of the Tattered Spire... and to serve _Lucien_ as he sees fit."

The name made her blood boil, as did the situation. _Serve Lucien_? Not in a _thousand_ summers would she allow him to use her in such a way.

"_My_ job is to ensure the obedience of guards like you. You will do everything I tell you. No question. Failure to _obey_... will cause the device around your neck to activate. This is not a pleasant experience. You will lose your willpower, your memories; your experiences will be drained away. This will continue... until you submit."

Submit... _Another_ word that cut through her, but this time it was joined with a spark of grim amusement. She wasn't any other weak-minded Crucible champion. She had a _reason_ for being here, and that reason gave her strength. If it was the last thing she did, she was going to give these men a run for their money.

He seemed to catch her thoughts: "Perhaps you believe you will resist. Some try at first - a misguided sense of _personal honour_. You must decide: is your honour... _really_ that important to you?" he left her a second to think about it, and then gestured to the spot beside him, "Now. Come here. _Obey_ me."

Her eyes moved over the platform. It wasn't much of an order. And, whatever he said, this really wasn't about _personal honour_. This was about keeping herself sane, and keeping Garth in reach. And if she wanted Garth in reach... sometimes she would have to play along. So she didn't really have that much of a choice.

Blade moved forwards, slowly, standing by his side.

"Be still. Good. Now. Look over there."

She looked. The boat she had arrived on was still docked. People were still unloading, all dressed in that strange guard uniform, all with collars firmly attached to their necks. Blade let her eyes move over the walls, now completely ignoring the man beside her. The pure _size_ of this place... And they would be helping to make it bigger. To build _a creation unrecognisable in its perfection_.

She watched the prisoners go around in chains, disgust building slowly but resolutely inside of her. The guards beat them when they failed, when they missed a box, when they were not fast enough, when they _felt_ like it. Torture, degradation, imprisonment... Perfection? If this was perfection, then a lot was left to be said for chaos...

"...Yet, our progress... is not a _miracle_." She forced herself to listen, quickly, to concentrate on what he was saying. He didn't seem like the sort to appreciate someone ignoring him, "It is a product of _obedience_."

She looked at him, her attention sharp. Her heart was beginning to beat faster. There was something in this she didn't know.

The Commandant looked at her for a second, "Let us see how well you have learned." He yanked out his blade. She flinched, trying to pull away but, for some reason, her body didn't seem to want to. The collar kept her firmly in place. He watched her struggles with a dismissive curiosity. He moved closer, "I am going to hit you... and you are going to thank me. Because I tell you to."

He waited one second and then sliced her arm with his blade. The collar failed and she staggered back a step, clutching at the wound, blood spurting between her fingers, sharp pain moving over her, biting her lip to prevent a profanity.

"Now. Thank me. Obey!"

She looked up at him, darkly, ignoring the pain, "No."

His eyes narrowed, and he shook his head, slowly.

Suddenly, the collar around her neck constricted, mercilessly. Blade fell to her knees, grabbing at her throat as pain cut deep, her breathing sharp and shallow. The collar burned through her, the metal sending shocks of something like lightning, something like heat rattling through her. She felt something she had never felt before, like a tug, like a pull on her stomach and her mind, yanking, trying to force her to do as he said.

A voice echoed through her head, a sickly familiar voice, clouding all her senses and filling them with only Lucien's words: _Obey! __**Thank**__ him for his mercy!_

The collar released and she fell to all fours, panting, one hand still clutching at her throat.

"Thank me for your pain!" the Commandant hissed, his voice echoing through her head, "Obey!"

"Fuck you." She murmured, her hand on her throat.

The collar squeezed again, and again she was thrown to the floor in agony. Her mind flickered over memories, long ago, but they were just images, there were no words, and, however hard she tried, she couldn't remember. A bandit leader she couldn't name, a long, dark bridge she couldn't place, a face she couldn't recognise, all of it was seeping away. Panic started to pump through her. She choked out her breaths, feeling it breaking her, knowing she couldn't survive much longer of this.

_You __**will**__ obey! You __**must obey**__!_

After what seemed like hours, it released. She fell to the floor, her mouth inches from the cold stone, still gasping, pulling in oxygen. Her whole body shook.

"Recruit 273, you _will_ learn your _place_! _Obey_!"

She shook her head, slowly. She coughed out blood on the floor. Her head felt weak, dizzy. She couldn't hold on for much longer.

She felt his presence near her, "So be it."

"Thank you."

* * *

She had to force the words out, strangled in her strained breaths.

The Commandant knelt down beside her, grabbing hold of her chin and forcing it up to his face, "What was that?"

Blade shook her head, bitterly, her loathing of her words clear: "_Thank you_."

He let go, allowing her to fall by to the floor, "Excellent. You learn quickly. Now..."

Avo. He wasn't done. Blade stayed where she was, slumped on the floor, unable to bring the energy to right herself, her forced breaths slowly calming, her heart slowly settling back to normal.

He gave her a sharp tap on the shoulder with his foot. She winced and then pulled herself up slightly, facing him.

He leant down to her, "_Beg_. Beg me to show mercy."

She let out a breath and let herself back to the floor again, fighting to keep her breathing calm. No. She couldn't.

The Commandant circled her, watching her reaction with a calculated curiosity. What was she going to do... "You do understand the _concept_... _don't_ you. _Beg_."

She shook her head again, looked up at him, in his yellow eyes, and managed one word: "No."

The Commandant growled. The collar squeezed again, stopping her air, the dizziness coming back, and she fell back, back to the floor, and, with Lucien's voice echoing in her head, lost consciousness.


	4. Diaries: I Am Blade

**Diaries: I Am Blade**

Day Fourteen.

Two weeks. That's all it's been. Just two weeks. Not even a month. Fourteen days in this hell. It feels like forty. I only know the days because I scratch them into the wall by my bedroll, one scratch a day. Just to keep time. They don't like us doing that. They do things at random to make sure we can't tell the days, like wakeup calls in the middle of the night, saying it's morning, not letting us see the sky. I put a scratch on the wall whenever I go to bed. It probably isn't night, but that doesn't matter. We're running on Spire time now.

The Spire throbs beneath my feet. It is a living organism, I have learned to accept that now, and the movement, the noise - they are its breathing. The noise has a way of working its way into your subconscious. I force myself to be constantly aware of it. That way I can never be taken unawares. It has tricked people before. Snuck into their heads and whispered. Driven them to become the weak, sheep-like creatures they are now. Driven them to submit.

Two in our section are dead. Already. One, an accident on the Spire. He was a worker, and... something went wrong. They weren't exactly specific. They didn't need to be. The other... killed when he tried to escape. I don't know where he thought he was going to go. We are weeks from land. The perfect prison. The docks are completely cut off; no-one is allowed down there except the few guards that escort new 'recruits'. And the Commandant, of course. We cannot escape via sea. So what else are we to do? The workers work or face the consequences. The guards guard... or get punished. I mostly just get punished.

But I do not fear their penalties. I will continue to fight their commands until I have no more air to give, as long as my heart continues to beat. It is not purely to appear exasperating. Simple commands, reasonable commands, I obey. But some cannot be obeyed. The chances of something happening in this place that could be classed as 'reasonable' are very slim indeed. The other guards torture, incarcerate, kill, on an order, on an officer's whim. I do not. I have not changed so much as to allow myself to become their instrument. They will not control me.

I will not let them take my will. I cannot let them take my will. But it has only been two weeks, and already their tortures are beginning to show on me. The skin on my neck is a strip of open flesh, fried and rubbed raw from the collar. My back bares the marks of their beatings. But it is not the physical pains that I fear.

Slowly, day by day, I can feel my past life being wiped away, like wind over a field of grain. My memories are... muddled. Simple recollections are now a source of frustration for me. Sometimes it is just a word. A feeling. A name. Others it is a face, or maybe a whole town, maybe even my name. And, though I know I must, the more I fight the Commandant the more of my memories I lose. How long before I lose myself altogether?

I do not know if I can continue like this, allowing my memories to be bleached away. Whether I will last longer than a winter in this place is... a source of debate. My desire is strong, my will to save Garth, knowing that in his rescue lays Lucien's damnation. But my memories... I will save Garth. But at what cost? I need to remember my life outside this hell, so that when I return to it, I can fully become myself again. I can walk Bowerstone's streets proud of whom I am. I can return to my family with no regrets. If I even remember their faces.

If I cannot be Jaina in case of rousing Lucien's suspicions, I must remain Blade. I cannot become Recruit 273. I will not. I cannot let this place take what I have left behind.

* * *

Things to Remember:

o Lucien - my quest, first and foremost, I must keep in my mind, always.

o Hammer - my friend, and close companion. She is the reason I am here, and I care for her deeply. I will not let her slip my mind.

o Bowerstone. The town I grew up in, with my sister. It has its place in my heart.

o Boy, my faithful companion. He pulled me back to life when I thought it was not worth living.

o Michael. My love, I will return to you as soon as I can.

o Rose Marie. I will see your smile again.

o My darling Mattie. I will be there for your first steps, your first words. Of that I assure you.


	5. Step One

**Step One**

"So. How well _have_ you learned."

Blade looked at him. She didn't say a word.

The Commandant turned his back, sharply, angrily. He paused for a second, as if controlling his rage, and then turned back to her, "Recruit 273, I am losing patience with you."

"Then why do you continue," she asked, emotionlessly, "Surely I am a lost cause... _sir_."

"Because in ten years this facility has not had a single rouge element. All workers have been moulded to obedience. There are no exceptions."

"Well. There's a first time for everything."

"Not this." He grabbed her chin, swiftly, forcing her to face him. She didn't move, didn't flinch. She just looked at him. He considered her for a moment, "Yes... You're stronger than the average Crucible dog. I'll give you that. Something's keeping you resilient. Something outside these walls." His grip tightened until pain split along her jaw, "I will find it, 273. And I will_ crush_ it."

She let her anger enter her eyes, "My _name_ is _Blade_."

He released her and slapped her hard around the face. Her back hit the wall and she put a hand to her cheek, automatically. But she just stood still, giving a small, quiet laugh, shaking her head, "Go on. _Go_ on, then. Find it. _Find_ what's keeping me strong. Why don't you just do it. Why don't you just use your bloody collar. _Force_ me to answer. Go ahead."

"273, do not think to assume that this form of questioning is due to anything more than necessity." She raised an eyebrow, and he shook his head, "Humans cannot withstand the collar for long. Though your attempts are... _valiant_... you can only endure three activations before unconsciousness. Which is a waste of my time _and_ yours."

She rolled her eyes, an expression she saved for situations exactly like this, "Yes, because my _very_ busy timetable does not _allow_ for such inconveniences..."

He smiled, lopsidedly, an odd sight and not a pleasant one. She met his eyes, not letting him think he had affected her.

"What was your name? Before Blade, I mean."

She looked at him, frowning slightly. For someone trying to enforce 'Recruit 273' on her he was acting very oddly... She shook her head, "I believe it was Lionheart. I am not in charge of what the public calls me, sir."

He shook his head, impatiently, "Before _that_. I mean your _real_ name."

Blade looked at him. Was this suspicion? Was he trying to work it out? What explanation would he come up with, she wondered.

The Commandant raised an eyebrow, "Well? You will not answer? 273, you will learn obedience if it is the last thing you do!"

"Go on then!" she burst out, suddenly, anger fuelling her, "Use your collar! See what good it does you! Keep on using it then maybe I won't even be able to _remember_ what my name is, is _that_ what you want?"

He looked at her, perfectly calmly, "Yes. Now. What is your name?"

She looked at him, "Blade." She practically spat.

He struck out, throwing her to the floor, "Your name is Recruit 273! And again! What is your _name_!"

"_Blade_!"

He activated the collar and her head smashed down to the floor, pain splitting along her temples, her breathing captured in her lungs.

_You are Recruit 273._ Lucien's voice said in her head, _You __**know**__ that is your name._

"No!" she growled, anger and pain burning through her, "_No_! I am _Blade_! Blade is who I am!"

_**No**__. You have no other existence apart from Recruit 273. That is all you are._

"My name is who I am!"

_There is nothing except these walls. Nothing outside. You must learn this_.

"I will _not_!"

Pain burned again, splitting, seizing her head. Then the Commandant gestured with his hand, sharply. The collar released. Her head relaxed back on the floor. Her breathing started again. She had spent some time in this place. She was beginning to recover more quickly. She didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

This was step one. Blade knew it. Depersonalisation. She was just a number. Just 273. And it didn't matter what happened to a number. A number had no identity, no life. It was just used as the user saw fit.

Lucien was her user.

She allowed her fury at that thought to power her. She stumbled back to her feet, locking her eyes back on the Commandant, grimly expectant. She allowed no other emotions to show through. There was only anger.

He looked at her, eyebrow raised, "Well. You certainly are a fighter. I'll give you that. Very strong..." he tilted his head slightly to one side, almost curiously, "You know, I do believe the other guards would be quite interested in you. They apparently love a challenge. Have they asked you yet?"

Anger surged inside of her, and she had to fight hard to stop the blood from going to her cheeks, "Yes. They did."

"And?"

She looked at him, considering her answer, "And they didn't ask again." She replied, coldly.

He smiled again, and an uncontrollable shiver went through her. Seeing his smile was like seeing a Nymph smile - more dangerous and terrifying in itself than any creature you could care to name. "Yes, you seem the type."

"The type?"

"The type that will resist in any way possible." He paused, looking at her, tilting his head slightly to one side. Then he shook his head, dismissively, "But I've wasted enough time on you. Guards. Take her away. Put her in solitary for a few days. See if she changes her tune."

Two guards grabbed hold of her arms, yanking her back towards the door, "If you think solitary will break me, _Commandant_, you are very mistaken!"

He glanced at her, looking vaguely amused, "273. It isn't the _isolation_ that is designed to break you. It's _you_. Take her."

* * *

Blade closed her eyes. She opened them again. There was no difference. She paused, and then put her hands out, running them along the walls. They were too close. The room was, as far as she could tell, about two feet by three. It must have been made for this purpose.

She paused again. Silence. Nothing but silence. She ran her tongue over her lips. What was _with_ this _room_? Was it Will? Old Kingdom engineering? Not a sound entered it, when just outside the door she could hear voices, footsteps, hammers and spades, building work, the guards' sharp commands. In here she could hear nothing.

She shuffled back a bit, backing into the corner, pulling her knees up to her chest and letting her head lean back against the stone wall. It was cold. Not cold enough for her to actually _worry_ about it, but cold enough for her to be constantly aware of it. The rough cloth of the guard jacket itched against her skin, but she didn't take it off. She didn't want to bare her arms to this chill.

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

She didn't have her book. Not that it would matter in this dark. So she let her mind wander over everything she knew, everything she remembered from back home. She smiled slightly. Sometimes she wrote home a day or so in advance. Sometimes she'd just turn up on the doorstep, a cocky, yet still almost _relieved_ grin moving over her face as she saw his for the first time in weeks.

They'd spend the day out by Bower Lake, maybe go for a picnic. She'd rock Mattie to sleep and teach Rose Marie how to fish over the side of the creek. They'd once been interrupted by bandits, and she'd taken them out of sight before making sure it was the last mistake they made. Then they'd go home, she'd put Rose to sleep, put a kiss on Mattie's forehead, and with the kids asleep Michael would drag her almost immediately off to bed to show her just how much he'd missed her.

And then, the next morning, she'd make her goodbyes, and then leave again.

Blade's smile faded. She leant further back into the cold stone. The silence cut through her again. The sound of children laughing faded into darkness.

Maybe this was what the Commandant had meant. She had never felt so weak in her life.


	6. Diaries: Night's Sleep

**Diaries: Night's Sleep**

Week Seven.

Can't sleep. Too much noise. Got out of solitary a few days ago. But now... all this noise... In solitary it had been too quiet. I had yearned for any sound. But now...

It's something to do with the collar, I know. The sounds aren't real. They are all illusions. He's testing me. Trying to push me. Trying to break me. But I won't let him. I'll break through the noise with my thoughts, my words. I'll force myself to concentrate on something else. It'll be easy. I'll just write. Continue writing. Over the screams. The constant screams. The yelling, the begging, the cries of pain. Maybe he thinks the contrast will break me. Too quiet to too loud. I won't let him break me. I'll just write over it.

The days are so repetitive. Get up, eat, go to work, break, work again, then back to bed. A mind such as mine craves challenges, activity. This is just... monotonous. Every day the same. No differences. The only challenges I receive are the times when the Commandant calls me to him to answer for some misdeed, some disobedience. I have almost begun to relish such exchanges, as twisted as it seems. They are new, they are unpredictable. And whilst I can feel the affect his attentions have on me, they serve as a break from fighting against no-one. At least I can have an outlet for my anger.

But I can't allow such thoughts. I will not let him become the one thing in this place I actually look forward to. And, besides, every encounter with him serves as another chance for him to finally break me. To take away my memories for good.

Avo, that screaming... will it never end? I know that it is not real, that there is no need for concern, but every scream... it cuts through my heart. It is in my nature to feel the pain of others. And this is a torture I would never expected the Commandant to be so intuitive to make use of. He is cleverer than I thought.

Lucien is clever. To have created this. To have fooled them all. To have tricked them all into obeying without question. The entries in the diary I recovered were... interesting. And terrifying. To look into his thoughts... It is no wonder he is like he is. He is broken. Obsessed. To lose his wife and his daughter, ones so close to him, pain without measure, nobody could understand his grief. Except me. Rose was my wife, my daughter, my mother, my only friend. She was my protector, my only companionship, the one who I loved more than anything else in the world. And he murdered her.

It is incomprehensible how he thought such an evil could save this ruined world. He did not even see the irony. If it wasn't for people like him... this world wouldn't be ruined.

I must sleep. I must at least try. But, every time I put my head down, attempt to allow slumber, another scream echoes through my mind. I cannot sleep with this. I have enough trouble sleeping during peace. Avo knows what I would see if the last thing my mind picked up on was this.

My dreams as of late have been... troubled. Their occasional preoccupation with that night in his study has become a nightly obsession. Before it was just a brush. A sporadic missed night, a rare bad dream. Now the world is a perpetual nightmare. I can't sleep. I daren't sleep. Rose's face haunts my waking. I regularly waken to the sound of a gunshot, just that one, loud bang. I think it is being so close to Lucien. I have not seen him since that day on the docks. But just knowing he is in the same site as me is enough to conjure up a vicious hunger I cannot suppress.

I do not like that part of me. The part that yearns for blood. But it is all I hold on to. Theresa once told me that it is only my anger that keeps me together, my want for revenge. And maybe that was true, once. But revenge is not all that is in my heart now. I have others, others that I love, others that I would do anything for. But I fear that any substantial exposure to this nightmare will change that, however. I want to remember my family. I want to remember my name, who I am, what I fought to represent. But I can feel all sense of self slowly draining away. Soon I fear my only remaining emotion will be hate. And, if that should drain away... what would be left?

* * *

Things to Remember:

o Bower Lake. A place I will miss.

o The feel of the sea, the ocean, waves of salt, and clean, sharp rivers.

o The warmth of a recently lit fire, after a day out in the cold.

o The sun, setting over Oakfield meadows, the harvest grain turned into a sea of golden fire. The most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

o Michael. I love you. I will return.

o My beautiful Rose Marie.

o Dearest little Mattie.

o Rose. My sister. May your soul rest in peace.


	7. Step Two

**Step Two**

"How are you settling in?"

Blade gave him a slow look, and then looked back down at the table, her eyes boring a hole in the wood.

Bob gave a small, uneasy shrug, "Yeah. I... I heard you aint doing well. I heard..." he hesitated, glancing around him, and then leant down towards her, lowering his voice, "I heard you're fighting the Commandant."

"What of it." She asked, emotionlessly, not moving her gaze.

There was a long pause. "Nothing. Nothing, of course."

They fell into silence. Blade looked at the wall. It was feeding time in the camps. The guards were all sat down on these long tables. Three officers handed out plates of something that could debatably be called food. There was vague chatting. This was the only time they were allowed to talk, and people made the most of it. Blade didn't. She preferred silence.

"I wish I had your strength." Bob murmured, softly.

She glanced up at him for a second, almost surprised, this statement cutting through her momentary stupor. _What_ did he say? She too glanced around them. She didn't want him worked up in this. She'd told him right from the beginning that she didn't want him to be seen with her. She was the troublemaker. She didn't want him tarred with the same brush, it was too... _fatal_. For now, he was doing fine, avoiding attention... _surviving_. And like hell that was going to change because of her.

A plate was put down in front of her. A slosh of something that could have been stew with questionable meat, and a crusty, brown roll of bread. She picked up her fork and then glanced up at him, "You should be careful what you say. In front of... certain people."

She placed the fork in the bowl and then pushed it towards him. He instantly took his bread roll and put it in its place. They had done this since Bob had asked her why she never ate all her meal. She answered that she was a vegetarian, and he offered a trade - her meat for his bread. It was a good system, and had worked for weeks.

But this time it didn't.

An officer saw her trade her meat, and walked over to her, quickly, "What's your name?"

She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Guard 273, sir." Bob answered, hastily, seeing and recognising the expression on her face before the officer did, trying to keep her out of trouble yet again, "And I'm 268."

The officer paused, looking at him. Then moved his gaze back to her, "Get up."

She paused, as if to show him she still had the slightest ounce of free will left. Then she obeyed, slowly, pushing back her chair so she could stand fully in front of him.

He observed her for a second, his eyes moving over her face, down over her body, and then back up again, "What's wrong with your meal."

"Nothing, sir." She replied, quietly, reminding herself firmly to keep her tongue.

"Then why aren't you _eating_ it." He asked, raising an eyebrow. His voice echoed warning. A couple of his officer friends were now standing behind him, curious as to how this was going to play out.

Blade watched him, cautiously. All the officers recognised her. All knew who she was. And they all seemed to want a go at breaking her. Maybe the Commandant had offered a promotion for the first person to make her submit. She wouldn't put it past him.

"I _am_ eating it, sir." She answered, her voice still soft, no sign of antagonism in her.

"I meant your _meat_. Why aren't you eating your _meat_." She didn't reply, and he cocked his head slightly to one side, "In fact... you've _never_ ate your meat. _Have_ you. Why not."

She paused. Her gaze flickered to the floor. There was no other possible explanation. Even a brainless lackey like _him_ could have figured it out. But he wanted to make a point of it. So she would have to answer him.

She moved her eyes up to him. "I'm a vegetarian." she said, slowly.

He raised his eyebrows, and then shook his head, turning to his friends behind him and giving a short, sharp laugh. Then he turned back, abruptly, and spat in her face.

Blade closed her eyes for a second. She didn't move. Then she looked at him again.

The officer raised an eyebrow again, "Well? What d'you say?"

She thought for a second, her mind calculating what was required of her. Then she got it. "Thank you, sir."

"Damn straight. Now sit down."

She sat, immediately.

He yanked the bowl of crusting stew back to her place and then took hold of her roll of bread, showing it to her, "This is mine. You eat that. Hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. And you keep your mouth shut 'til you're out of here. Completely silent. Now get on with it." He walked off, cursing her to his officer friends, still shaking his head, incredulously.

Blade cleaned off her cheek, wiped her hand on her trousers, and then picked up her fork. She hesitated for less than a second, then speared a small chunk of meat and put it into her mouth. It took everything she had not to retch. She hadn't eaten anything that was once a living thing for more than fifteen years. When she was homeless, of course, she ate whatever she could get. It was when she moved to Bower Lake that she made the choice. The taste was... _horrific_.

She forced herself to chew. The meat was so salty, so sharp; there was something about it that turned her stomach. It felt like she was eating a carcass, chewing on raw flesh. She kept going, choking the stew down. She could feel Bob's eyes on her. She felt his emotions. Guilt, pity, pain. A much dulled spark of anger. No matter. She had known they would get caught eventually.

She finished her meal, silently. She placed her fork down on her plate, silently. She paused for a moment. She got to her feet, slowly, not saying a word. And then left the room at a completely calm, completely normal pace to be sick.

* * *

"Time for round two... _'Blade'_."

She closed her eyes for a second. Again. They had to try this _again_. Hadn't they had enough? Hadn't they learned their lessons yet?

Blade turned round, silently, waiting for the three officers to get level with her. The first came right up to her face, a man she was very much familiar with, Officer 198. The second she'd met before, but she didn't know his number. The third, however... he was a newcomer to this game. But he was still very familiar, and not for the same reasons as the others.

She looked at him for a second, cocking her head slightly to one side, "I thought I recognised you. You're one of the ones I came to the Spire with. We were on the same boat. What's your name - 267? 270?"

"265."

"Close enough." She moved her gaze, "And Officer 198. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company."

"The Commandant sent us."

"Ah. Of course. What have I done this time."

"You remember a coupla days ago? He ordered you to beat a worker and you refused? He's decided it's time for a little punishment."

"He kept that grudge for all that time? I admire his persistence." Her eyes moved over them, slowly, and then back to him, "But I am not to be graced with his presence, I presume?"

"He's busy with his little sorcerer at the moment. So..." he paused, and gave her a small, twisted smile, "We got you all to ourselves."

She looked at him for a moment, "Tell me, 198. Were you this fucked up _before_ you came here or did the Spire do that _for_ you."

He smiled again, "Wouldn't you like to know." Then he jerked his head, gesturing to the path behind him, "Come on. Let's get moving. We've got so much to _talk_ about."

Blade looked at him for a second. She had the sense of mind to almost feel sorry for them. These people knew her only as 'Blade'. They didn't know she had ever been anything else.

They didn't know she didn't need a weapon.

She brought up her hands and clicked her knuckles, then her wrists, and then last her neck. Her eyes didn't move from his. Then she gave a small smile, "No."

This was going to end in blood.


	8. Diaries: Obedience

**Diaries: Obedience**

Week Thirty-Eight.

Today... has been an exceptionally rough day. Even by the Spire's standards. And I didn't even see the Commandant, this was... this was someone else.

I was doing the rounds, overseeing the workers - or, more accurately, pretending to oversee the workers - when I stumbled across Bob. The officers had separated us and put us into different patrols soon after the 'vegetarian' incident, so I hadn't seen him for some weeks. He looked... rough. He looked ill. His face was ashen white, and he was fidgeting, picking at the cuticles on his fingers. I abandoned my patrol - to hell with the consequences - and went to him.

"_Bob?"_

First he denied it. Typical male. But I got the truth out of him eventually. The Commandant had made him torture a recruit this morning. Flogging, whips, blood, thumbscrews... it had been a very efficient torture. Bob shook when he told me.

I had heard of the Commandant commanding such things. He had tried quite a few times on me. I shook my head, "Why? Why did he order it?"

"He... overheard the poor bastard saying that he... he missed his family." He paused for a second, and then shook his head, slowly, "I'm glad I don't have a family."

I couldn't believe what I had heard. A pulse went through me, like... like something had broken inside. It was happening to him. He was starting to forget.

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

A shiver seemed to go through him then. Something passed over his face. Then he shook his head again, firmly, "When I said that... for a moment... It's hard to think with this noise. You know, I almost don't notice it anymore. It's... it's as familiar as my own heartbeat."

Oh Avo. _Lucien's_ words. Lucien had got to him. The anger I felt then cannot be expressed in words. It... ate at me.

I took his arm, looking him straight in the eyes, my stance urgent, "Bob. You have a family."

He frowned at me, so confused, genuinely confused, "What're you talking about?"

"Lil. I'm talking about Lil. Do you remember?"

He just looked at me for a second, and then shook his head, not understanding. I wasn't allowed to remind the guards of their former lives. It had been forbidden weeks ago. The collar knew it. It gave a small squeeze, a warning.

I ignored it: "Bob. What is Lil short for. Lilly? Lillian?" the collar was getting steadily tighter, and I forced a hand up to my neck, my breathing growing short. An officer behind us had noticed. He watched me for a second, eyes narrowed, and then started walking over.

I tightened my grip on his arm, "Bob. Remember. You have to remember. Please."

"Guard 273."

I hesitated, fighting with the collar, my words gasps, "Yes, sir."

He watched me for a second, not knowing what I had done to trigger the collar but knowing it must have been disobedience, "Report to the detention centre. Now."

"Yes, sir."

My obedience gave slack to the collar. I could breathe properly again. I took one look at Bob's confused frown, and then turned and started walking.

Garth was in the cage at the end of the corridor. Keeping my head down, I glanced up at him. My hand was still on my neck, under the collar, nursing painful bruises, torn apart skin. My eyes seemed to transmit all my doubt, all my fear, all my anger. He caught it, immediately, and raised his head slightly.

Be patient. Time has no meaning here.

The words moved through my head without him having to speak them. He'd said the same thing the first time he saw me, when he figured out what I was. Be patient. He said it every time I walked past. He could sense my edginess, I suppose. I paused, watching him for a moment. Then I gave a small, slow nod, and left.

* * *

"273? Trust they'd send you."

I looked around. The wall was lined with cages, prisons, sealed by some strange Old Kingdom magic. One worker was placed in each one, waiting for their punishments. While they waited, they would stay without food, without water, sometimes for weeks. The men inside there now were horrifically thin.

Painfully, I moved my eyes off them. The detention centre was the pit of my nightmares. The last time I had been there, the Commandant had brought me to oversee the torture of a young worker, a boy, as part of my punishment for something I can no longer even remember. He had probably not seen fifteen summers. The Commandant had given me a flintlock pistol, a terrible thing, and ordered me to kill him. I refused. He tortured him, using his Will, threw lightning through his body until the boy collapsed to the stone, couldn't take anymore. He ordered me again. And I shot the boy through the head.

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

The guard on duty was Officer 162. I had, unfortunately, come across him before. He was a vile thing, malicious, depraved. He was such _before_ he had come to the Spire. No doubt this place was a good vent for him.

He looked me up and down, as he always did, and then jerked his head begrudgingly at the prisons behind him, "Stand here and guard these maggots 'til I get back. They're not allowed any food though, so don't touch the controls."

"Or?" I asked, my eyes locked on his.

His eyes narrowed, "Or you'll be sorry." He glanced at the men over his shoulder, "I'm off to have a bite to eat." He moved his gaze back onto me. His eyes slid over me again, and he gave a small, unpleasant smirk, "Be right back. Then we can have a little... _chat_."

An unveiled threat. I clocked it with no emotion. I was used to this sort of thing from him. 162 smirked again, and then he left.

My eyes fell back on the prisoners. As soon as he had got out of sight they had started. Begging. Pleading. Their cries were dry and croaked in their throats. Their efforts were weak. Every move they made cut through me. And I had to. I had to.

There were seven cells. As soon as I approached the first the collar around my neck gave its squeeze of warning. I ignored it, and, quickly, threw down the first set of controls. Food fell into the cell, and the man devoured it, hungrily.

You must obey! I command you not to help these men!

No. I couldn't obey. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. I went onto the next, forcing down the lever. Pain struck through my head and I was forced to the ground. There is no feeling like it. Having your memories sapped, your will leeched away.

Another lever down. The screaming in my head was becoming unbearable. I could barely see.

Obey! They are to receive no food!

I managed to crawl to the next cell. I reached up, my hand sliding back along the cold stone wall, reached again, all the while the screaming echoing through my mind. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. I managed to get hold of the lever, and, with the last of my strength, I pulled it down.

My energy left. I'd only managed four out of seven. But it was all I could do. I fell to the floor, completely spent. I could feel darkness taking me.

The beating of leather on stone behind me introduced the re-entrance of Officer 162. I didn't have the strength to turn to him.

He walked up behind me, grabbing me by the collar and dragging me slightly off the floor. "You'll pay for this." His voice was a low growl.

"Not today." I managed, and then lost consciousness.

I woke up back here. On my bedroll. I immediately started writing. I didn't want so much time to have passed that I could not remember what the collar had taken from me. If I write it all down... if I am aware that the collar is taking my memories... then at least I have a chance of fighting it.

I cannot give up. This is too important to let slide. I will get out of this place. I will.

* * *

Things to Remember:

o The little boy I killed. And the prisoners in the cells. I must not forget the consequences of this place. I must not let its evil slip my mind.

o Bob. And Lil. If he cannot remember her, then I will. She deserves that.

o Michael.

o Rose Marie.

o Mattie.


	9. What Heroes Fear

**What Heroes Fear**

Blood spilled from her lip, her neck, her arms. But the wounds the Commandant had cut into Blade's body were nothing to the battle going on in her head.

"Do you think that for you to obey an order it must be given by _me_? This place is _run_ on _obedience_! You _will_ _**learn**_ that!"

She spat blood on the floor. Then looked back up at him, "This place is run on _slavery_."

He slashed her across the face. Pain split through her, blood running down her cheek and into her gasping mouth. He had done something to his blade. She could feel it. An augment? Poison? She didn't know. What she _did_ know was with every slice fire burned through her skin, throbbing deep down into her veins.

She managed to stay vaguely upright, her weight braced on her arms, keeping her up off the stone. She forced out a small, pained laugh, "That's the best you've got?"

The Commandant let out a low, predatory growl and stamped down hard on her outstretched hand. Blade felt bones break and she doubled over and retched blood. Her body crumpled back down to the floor, pain splitting through her, slicing through her mind. She looked at her hand, managing to hold back the water that prickled in her eyes, her breathing rough and quick. Three of her fingers were clearly broken, already swelling, the bruise forming quickly as blood poured out of her arteries, caught by the unbroken skin.

She tried to clench her hand slowly into a fist, grimacing, grinding her teeth. The pain was too much, and she let out a small, strangled yell, immediately stopping. She put her weight back on her palms, trying not to put weight on the splintered bones, trying to get up.

Not giving her time to rise, the Commandant grabbed her by the neck, hurling her upwards into the wall. She fell back to the floor, and his kick landed sharp in her side, throwing her over, her back smashing into the stone. Her hands fell out beside her shoulders, pain splitting through the crushed bones, her heavy pants for air seizing her whole body, closing her eyes and letting her head lean back on the floor.

The Commandant circled her, slowly. He was waiting for what he knew would happen. And she didn't want to _disappoint_ him.

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

They would help her suppress her pain. They would help her survive this hell. They would help keep her strong.

Blade sat up, then struggled to her feet. Her good hand snapped out to brush the wall for a second as she felt like her legs wouldn't hold her, but then she got her balance and let her hand slide off, looking daggers at the man in front of her.

She shook her head, slowly, "You won't break me. Pain won't break me, _sir_."

He looked at her, and then nodded, slowly, thoughtfully, "I see that. So what _will_ break you."

She managed a laugh, "Well, I wouldn't know, would I? And, even if I _did_, I don't think it would be something I would share with _you_."

"Yes. I have no doubt." He looked at her for a second, calculating her, "But I'll get it eventually. I've never failed."

"Never say never."

He smiled, somewhat distantly. He was still looking at her. "It's something outside these walls. I _know_ it's something outside these walls. Is that right?"

She stayed silent, watching him. The constant throb from her fingers was beginning to catch her attention. She cradled them with a cupped hand, keeping her eyes on his. Her pride was too much for her to check them.

"What _do_ you fear?"

No answer.

"You don't fear pain. Threats. Humiliation. You don't fear the less... _tasteful_ orders the _others_ try and put you through. So what _do_ you fear?"

Not a word. She just looked at him. Her instincts were buzzing in the back of her neck. Her body was taught, expecting pain.

"I've never got more than a _murmur_ of assent out of you." he continued, slowly, watching her very carefully, "Apart from that _first_ time. I got two words. And then you closed back up again. What was different _that_ time."

She thought back, silently.

She could remember falling down again on cold stone, gasping, shaking, the collar seizing her throat, pawing at her memories, slowly leeching them away.

_You __**will**__ obey! You __**must obey**__!_

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

"It was only the _collar_ that time, wasn't it? You're not afraid of pain, but the collar put you right back in your place." he cocked his head slightly to one side, "But that's not right. You... you are _very_ strong. Why would you fear the collar? Why would you fear its effects when you _know_ you can fight them. It's just pain and voices, right? You'd be _fine_ with that. So what _is_ it."

He watched her for a second, and then realisation passed over his face, "It's the _memories_. That's right, isn't it? You've got something in your head that you can't afford to lose. But what would a Crucible pit dog like _you_ have to hide?"

Blade looked at him. She was shaking slightly. No. He couldn't have worked it out. No. She couldn't let him. No.

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

The Commandant paused, gauging her reaction, and then smiled, "I think we've just got a step further, 273. Maybe this is what you truly fear. And maybe this is the key to your true obedience. We'll test it, shall we?"

He took a step towards her. She took a step away. He smiled again. Then he shook his head, "273, what is your name."

She looked at him. Her heart thumped in her chest.

"Answer my question."

The ever-familiar pain started moving through her head. She grimaced, trying to stop it, trying to keep it back.

_**Obey**__! You __**will**__ answer his __**question**__!_

"Come on, 273, don't fight it. What is your name."

She shook her head, "Blade."

The collar activated and he struck out at the same time, smashing her head to one side, throwing her to the floor. Pain split through her fingers, the wounds he'd cut into her, and her hands went up, reflexively, her neck, her head, her eyes. She could feel the pull again, the tug, the yank on her mind, her memories.

_No_! Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie.

"_What_ is your _name_."

"My name is _Blade_!"

Again. The collar twisted her throat and Lucien's words filled her head, smashing through her systems, pain clouding her senses.

_You __**will**__ learn your __**place**_!

She fought with the collar, holding back a scream with substantial difficulty, her breathing nonexistent. Oakfield, Bowerstone, Thag, Giles, Lucien, Rose - _No you __**will not take her**__! You __**won't**__, I won't __**let**__ you!_ - Mad-Dog, Belle, Dash, Sam and Max, Theresa, Hammer - _No. No you can't, you __**can't**__!_ - Magpie, Ripper, Barnum, Murgo, Michael - _No_ - Rose Marie - _**No**_ - Mattie - _**No**__!_

The Commandant's voice echoed through her ruined senses: "Come, now. If you keep this up you will remember _none_ of your past life, 273. Is that what you _want_?"

The collar relaxed, and he pulled her to her feet, pushing her almost _gently_ back against the wall, "_What is your __**name**_."

"My... I'm..." her voice broke, her breathing withered in her chest.

No. No, please, no. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael... Rose... Rose Marie... Mattie... please...

She winced and shook her head, trying to force the words out, "My name... is..." she hesitated, panting, managing to hold on for one more second, and then shook her head, "Recruit... 273."

He let her go and she collapsed to the floor. She felt her forehead touch cold stone. She closed her eyes. It was over. She'd let him win.


	10. Diary Extract I

**Diary Extract I**

No. I won't let him take them from me. I won't let him!

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

I can't let him take them away. They are all I have! All my memories, all my self, it is all I am! His words echo through my head and I can't get rid of them, it's the collar, I know it's the collar, but I can't stop it, I can't get rid of it, it's all just

Rose, Lucien, Derek, Thag, Giles, Mad-Dog, Belle, Dash, Sam and Max.

Theresa, Hammer, Magpie, Ripper, Barnum, Murgo.

Michael, Rose Marie, Mattie.

What else? Who else? Who else have I forgotten? How can I even tell?

Okay. Places. Grew up in Bowerstone Old Town. Bowerstone Old Town, Bowerstone Cemetery, Bowerstone Market, the clock tower, Fairfax Castle, the archaeology site - Belle - the Gargoyle's Trove. Then I moved to Bower Lake, the gypsy camp, Heroes' Hill, the caves, the caves I used to explore as a child, the lake, picnics with Rose Marie, oh Avo, Rose Marie, Mattie, Michael.

Rose Marie.  
Mattie.  
Michael.

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

Oakfield, the Temple of Light, Westcliff... Rookridge, the Temple of Shadows... Brightwood, Brightwood Tower... the Bandit Coast... the Crucible...

I have to save Garth. I have to. I have to stop Lucien and this... this madness! I have to stop it now. He must pay for what he has done. I cannot let him finish the Spire. I have to... I have to... I have to stop him. I must stop him.

Avo. I can't, I can't do this.

Michael. I love you.


	11. Last Step

**Last Step**

"273, hey! How you doing?"

Blade watched the officers move around her, cautiously. Then she moved her eyes back, "What d'you want, Bradshaw."

He raised an eyebrow, "_Bradshaw_?"

She gave a low sigh. She couldn't do this for much longer. Even her bruised mind could see what was wrong with hurting these people. They barely even knew what they were _doing_. "I mean 249."

"We're just here to see the new toy. Aint that right, boys."

She gave a grim smile at the ridiculous analogy, "I'm not the _new_ toy. I'm just the un_broken_ toy."

"Same thing, aint it."

"No, not really."

"The Commandant wants to see you." Another said, raising an eyebrow, with the same smile as his, "We're here as your... _escort_. Apparently you skipped out on his last call."

She looked at him. She hadn't _skipped out_. She'd killed the guy who'd given her the message and chucked his body over the side. You didn't have to obey orders from dead people. She'd found that out quite some time ago.

But there were more of them this time. About four. She couldn't tell for sure without looking over her shoulder. And she sure as hell wasn't going to let them see her do _that_.

She nodded, slowly, "Fine. Let's go."

She turned on her heel and started off. She had to brush past an unmoving 249, and then promptly slap away his arm as he attempted to slide it around her waist. She turned to give him a slight push away, and by the time she had turned back they had almost passed his cell.

Jaina.

She stopped, immediately. She glanced up at him. Garth looked at her, face emotionless.

They are taking you to the Commandant?

She gave a small, slow nod.

Yes. He has something in store for you that you cannot anticipate. Be careful.

"Come on, _darling_, let's get _moving_." One of the Officers drawled. She frowned slightly and managed to block him out.

What do you mean?

Garth just looked at her.

Her heart fluttered in her chest. Over the weeks, whenever they had seen glances of each other, he had been perfectly open, perfectly honest. Now he was hiding something from her. And whatever it was... it couldn't be good.

"273? What the hell are you staring at?"

"What's up with her and the _Will_ guy?"

She shook her head, holding up a hand in a silent gesture to back off, not even glancing at him.

What's going on.

I do not know when we will be able to speak again. The Commandant is threatening to move me deeper within the Spire.

He hesitated, looking at her.

Stay strong. Do not let them break your will.

One of the guys seemed to take offence to her raised hand, and grabbed hold of it, twisting. Pain shot through her previously broken fingers and her attention snapped back to him again. She fought with his grip but he yanked her arm up behind her back, forcing it up until she started feeling it grind, so close to coming out of place.

"Get your hands _off_ me." She growled, fighting with his grip.

"Leave the sorcerer, girl. Let's get moving."

He yanked her away from the cell and pain split through her.

Garth felt her pain, and, mostly, her anger: _Be patient_!

She shook her head, allowing the officers to bundle her up the stairs.

Yeah. You've said that before. Easier said than done.

* * *

The officer threw her at the Commandant's feet. Blade struggled upright, looking at the man, distastefully, circling her shoulder to test the damage.

"Thank you, 249." The Commandant said, silkily, "Please return to your duties."

They all immediately backed out of the room. Good, obedient little soldiers.

Blade looked up at him, silently. Her body prepared itself. A well-known routine.

The burnt yellow eyes moved over hers. Then he shook his head, slowly, "I sent for you three hours ago. I sent a very good officer. A very _obedient_ officer. Who has since _disappeared_. Am I to call off the search party?"

"I would if I were you." She replied, slowly, "_Sir_."

He looked at her for a moment, "You were ordered not to use weapons."

"I _didn't_ use weapons." She said, coldly, "If you _still_ think I'm restricted to blades and pistols then you are not nearly as clever as I thought."

He let out a low growl and turned his back, stemming his anger. Then he turned back to her, "I _will_ make you obey!"

"I _am_ obeying!" her voice was a low snarl, "It's not my problem if you don't seem to know your own _parameters_."

"Then you will obey me _now_." He took hold of her by the collar and dragged her round the corner of the platform, "I believe you know this man?"

He threw her forwards, and she just managed to keep her footing. Then her breath left her.

* * *

"_Bob_!" Jaina ran towards him, put her hands on his shoulders. He was lying on his side, completely still, eyes open. But alive. Thank _God_, he was alive. He was murmuring under his breath, something she couldn't quite hear. She shook him, gently, having had received no reaction, "Bob? Look at me. Can you _look_ at me? Bob?"

He made no move, gave no sign of having heard her. He continued muttering.

She paused for a second, looking him over, and then got back to her feet, a deep anger burning hotly inside her, "_What did you __**do**__ to him_."

He raised an eyebrow, "I? I did _nothing_. _He_ did this to _himself_. Guard 268!" he added, sharply, moving over to him, "I order you to be quiet!"

Bob completely ignored him, like he had done her, and continued muttering. Obey. Obedience. Recruit. Guards. Heartbeat. Old Kingdom. What he was talking about, she had no idea. But it was Lucien. It was the collar. The collar had broken into his head.

"268! Shut your mouth!"

Again no response, continued whispering, muttering, his voice a low monotone, completely emotionless.

Blade looked at him. Her heart felt like it was splitting. She felt like something was rising in her stomach. Maybe she was going to be sick. She wouldn't be surprised. She couldn't watch this. She couldn't.

The Commandant gave a small, frustrated sigh and turned back to her, "Those who do not obey... can be made to. But those who _cannot_ obey... are _useless_."

He pulled a sword out of a holster on his belt. She looked it over, automatically. Master Longsword. No longer the mythical blade he had once wielded.

He held it out to her, hilt first, "Take this sword."

"Why." She asked, immediately. She was shaking slightly.

"Take the sword." He repeated, his voice echoing danger.

She looked at him, her eyes locked onto their yellow counterparts. She was fully shaking now, she felt like her _soul_ was shivering. She shook her head, slowly, "No."

Pain split through her head, her mind, her throat. She gritted her teeth, hard, letting no sound come from her mouth except shallow, back-in-the-throat gasps for breath. Activation One. First one of the day. How many would she survive? How many could she endure. Maybe... five? She was better at it now. Yeah, five, that sounded right. Four to go.

_You need a blade. A blade is what you __**are**__. It feels good. It feels comfortable and right in your hand._

Avo, not again. Let it stop, let it stop. She was on the floor again, no memory of having fallen, hands tight around her head.

The collar lifted. She drew in breath after breath, slowing it down, calming herself.

A strong grip forced the sword's hilt into her hand, "_Take it_."

She didn't fight it, allowed her hold to slide instinctively onto the hilt.

She tested her grip. A sword, a blade, for the first time in more than two years. It felt good. It felt comfortable and right in her hand.

She took her eyes from the shining silver, looking back up at the Commandant. He looked at her for a second, and then nodded, slowly, "Good. That's better. Now." He gestured to the man with a swift jerk of his head, "He is useless. It is better he is taken care of now. I order you. End his pathetic life."

_Now_ she was shaking. But for some reason the grip on her weapon stayed firm. She looked at him, her breathing rough, _very_ rough, shaking her head, slowly. No. No. Not him. Avo. Please. Anyone but him.

He raised an eyebrow, "It's a _mercy_, 273." His voice was seductively soft, so gentle, so logical, "Think of it that way, if you will. _Look_ at him. He's in _pain_. Put him out of his misery. Now."

A tear spilt down her cheek. She shook her head again, "No."

The softness dissolved. He nodded, thoughtfully, "Very well."

Two. The collar tightened. Pain. Pain struck again. This time even more intense than usual, tearing at her subconscious, slashing apart her memories, her resistance, all of it, all of _her_.

_Obey! __**Kill**__ him!_

The collar worked through her mind, Lucien's voice demanding her surrender.

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

She fought ferociously, forcing the collar back at every step, stopping it. But she was weakening. She could feel it leeching at her strength.

"This halfwit is beyond repair. But _you_ I _will_ salvage."

_Salvage_? The word echoed through her mind. Salvage. To save, to recover. To rescue something when it is so nearly lost. Did he think her nearly lost? Good. She _was_ lost. She would _prove_ it to him.

Another pulse from the collar. Three. She could feel darkness in her eyes now. Every part of her body was screaming in agony, her tortured mind clinging desperately to what she had. She wouldn't let go. She _couldn't_ let go. No. She couldn't. She wouldn't let him.

"Go ahead. Fight it. Everyone has their breaking point. And I _will_ find yours."

No. She couldn't let this happen. No. _No_.

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

"_Kill_ him!"

_Obey! This man __**must die**__._

No. It squeezed. Four. Pain. All pain. No. Not Bob. Not him. Always so naïve, so sweet, constantly so interested, so concerned, wanting so much to help her fit in, help her obey, _so_ naïve, broken so easily by the Commandant and his men, but his mind resisted. His mind resisted the collar. His mind tried to break through. But it couldn't break through. So it broke _him_.

She would no sooner kill him than kill herself.

Blade managed to get to her knees, fighting the collar all the way.

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

Her grip tightened on the hilt of the sword and, using the peak of her energy, she slashed out, catching the Commandant across the chest, blood immediately spurting down his body. He snarled, sharply stood back, giving a low hiss of anger and pain unlike any human sound, and then hit her hard across the face, throwing her back to the floor.

He put a hand up to his cut, testing it, and then shot her a disgusted glare, "So it's _punishment_ you're after, is it? Then I'll _oblige_."

Another squeeze. Five. Pain. All she knew was pain. She couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't _think_. This was so much worse, agony sawing through her mind, slicing into her, she could hear moans and pants, aggrieved hisses and strange, half-yells of pain and they were coming from _her_, that was _her_.

_Stop his pain and end yours! Kill him! __**Give**__ mercy to __**receive**__ it!_

She was blacking out, she could _feel_ it, she could feel it in the back on her head, the clouding in her eyes, and she didn't have much longer, she was grasping out, trying to hold on, but it was too much, too much, she couldn't take much more, she couldn't-

The pain stopped. Her head collapsed back to the floor. She fought to keep her eyes open. She felt dizzy. So dizzy.

The Commandant was beside her, giving a low snarl, frustrated, angry, _furious_, "_Fine_!"

He turned to the man on the floor and threw out a hand. Lightning shocked through him, his body seizing as the blue power hit, jerking, shuddering, shaking his small frame, eyes falling shut, a strange murmur rising in his throat, until, finally, _mercifully_, the jerking stopped, and Bob collapsed back onto the floor, silent.

Tears trickled down Blade's face as she felt consciousness slip between her fingers.


	12. Diary Extract II

**Diary Extract II**

Week Next.

See what I did there? Week Next. I don't know the days anymore. The officers found my chart and got rid of it, moved me to another section. I don't care. I'm not exactly leaving anyone behind. So, from now on, everything's going to be 'Week Next'. That's how it has to be.

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

Losing track of time doesn't matter. I was a fool to think it would. To all extents and purposes the officers actually did me a favour. Now I don't know the days. I don't know how much time has passed. How long I've been in this hell. I can't look at the wall and think 'yep, fifth year coming up, happy anniversary'. I continued it in the back of the book for a while, then gave up. Why bother. Seems I'm gunna be here a hell of a lot longer than I thought. I'll just take it day by day.

Hannah.  
Garth.  
Theresa.

They tried it again today. The other guards, the other officers. I'm their one female recruit. In the whole of the Spire, the only one. It's not that unfathomable. Only five women in all of its history have beaten the Crucible. But I don't understand - what makes them think I'll obey them if I don't even obey the Commandant? How could they possibly imagine that they could make my life a worse hell than he can?

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

They ordered me to take my clothes off. I nearly killed one of them on the spot. But the Commandant has given them and the other officers access to my collar. I didn't last long. I've learned to fight it since the beginning. I can withstand around five activations now. Six if I'm feeling particularly strong-minded. This time I lasted seven. I think. Anything they did to me after that meant nothing. I didn't feel it.

Hannah.  
Garth.  
Theresa.

It's been a few weeks since Bob. I think. No sign of Garth. The Commandant took him down to the lower levels. Hid him away. No sign of Lucien, either. Maybe he's hiding too. I think I need to see him. Lucien. Soon. Just for... just for something to hold on to.

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

Not that I haven't got this. This keeps me there. This keeps me sane. Keeps my memories in order. I can't let myself forget. It was close. And I can feel them. I can feel them slipping away. Sometimes I forget their names. I have to open this up, straight away. I have to see their names. I have to read their names. I have to write their names. I can't forget.

Michael.  
Rose Marie.  
Mattie.

If I forget, I'll end up the same as all the others. Broken. They're the only thing that's keeping me sane. The only thing that's keeping me whole. I know I've been gone for more than a year. More than three. When I get back... maybe Michael won't be there waiting for me. But that's okay. I love him. More than life itself. But I can't ask him to wait for me. I didn't ask him to wait for me. At least... I don't think I did. I can't remember. Sometimes this place just

Will he be there waiting for me? Did he love me enough to wait? I think he did. I'm pretty sure. He loved me enough to stay with me, bring up his daughters. I mean his children. Children. One boy, one girl. Mattie and Rose Marie. Which one is the oldest? Was my first born a son? It's been so long, I can't quite

This place is insane. I have to get out of here. Before it's too late. I have to. I have to get back to them, back to Bowerstone.

At least I think they're in Bowerstone.

* * *

Things to Remember:

o Bob

o Bowerstone

o Michael

o Rose Marie

o Mattie


	13. Impossible

**Impossible**

They say it's impossible to feel more than one intense pain at the same time, that your brain just can't cope with it. They say that if, for example, you've got two deep wounds, one in your shoulder and one in your chest, each equally excruciating should they be felt on their own, your brain simply picks out the most painful, the worst injury, and allows you to feel _that_.

Blade thought that for this rule, Old Kingdom artefacts didn't apply. The collar burned through her mind, her neck, her stomach, her chest, setting her senses on fire and reducing her to a crumbled ball of pain on the floor.

"Stay _still_."

"Like hell."

Pain boiled inside of her. It was _also_ said that after a period of intense pain the mind blanks all real memory of it from your mind, so, afterwards, you can never really tell what it _felt_ like. This one she knew was true. Every time the collar was activated it was a new, fresh torture, a green, inexperienced pain that she couldn't tell whether she would cope with, always thought it was the worst pain of her life, when, in reality, it probably wasn't. The worst was the time before. The second would be the _next_ time.

"Shit, this girl's a fighter, aint she?" one managed, grabbing her arm and forcing it behind her back.

"She wouldn't have gotten through the Crucible if she _wasn't_."

"Hell, she got through the _Crucible_? _Really_?"

"No way! That's impossible! Have you _seen_ that thing?"

"I'm telling ya, she _has_. That's what _I_ heard."

"No shit..." the Officer adjusted his grip on her wrists, dragging her backwards away from the doorway, "Come on, sweetheart, no need for _that_, _is_ there."

She fought ferociously at their holds, and was rewarded by another clench from the collar. All fighting stopped and she grabbed hold of her head, pain splitting through her.

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

No. They were dragging her away but she wasn't stopping them, she _couldn't_ stop them, all that mattered was the collar, her head, her throat, burned raw.

"Come on. Get her over here. Yeah, that's right, _there_ we go."

They bundled her away from the wall, pushing her down onto a table, on her back, forcing out her hands to either side of her head.

"Her stupid collar, stuck on the table."

"Get her back then."

The guy behind her grabbed the collar, using it to yank her back, adjusting her on the table so the metal spikes didn't force her head up. She hoped it broke her neck. It didn't.

Officer 249 looked at her, smiling slightly, "Heya gorgeous. How you doing?"

She looked at him. Her heart beat like a drum in her chest. She shook her head, slowly, "Mornin' Bradshaw."

"Bradshaw?

She was struck with a sudden sense of déjà vu. She shook her head, "It's your _name_. Your _name_, Bradshaw. Before you came to _this_ hellhole."

The collar was squeezing down, and they could see it. They all frowned, wondering what she had disobeyed _this_ time. Bradshaw didn't have a clue.

_There is __**nothing**__ outside these walls! You __**know**__ this!_

She ignored it, easily. It was just a pulse. A mark-four pulse, as she liked to call them. A warning. Don't remind the guards of their former lives. Or there'll be trouble. Just a warning.

Mark-three pulses were used by raw recruits, _hesitant_ recruits, who didn't want to disobey but took no pleasure in the act. Mark-two pulses were used by the Commandant, who, after years of trial-and-error, had realised that lesser pulses of the collar could be just as horrific, and lasted much longer.

Mark-one pulses were used by guys like this. Officers with no restraint and no logic. And tore through your skull like it was made of butter.

Bradshaw shook his head, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yeah. I know."

The officer raised an eyebrow, and then shook his head again, giving a small, amused smile. Then he turned slightly, mucking about with something on his belt. He turned back, and he had a blade in his hand.

Jaina's eyes locked onto it, immediately. But '249' was clever. He looked at her for a second with a small, lopsided smile, and then passed the knife to a rookie next to him, "Here ya go, 534. Knock yerself out."

The guy took the blade. He couldn't have been twenty years. But the Spire had cast its shadows in his eyes. His hand on a blade was as natural as hers. Well. _Almost_ as natural.

As he moved it towards her neck she yanked herself out of the officers' grips, smashing her hand into his forearm. He reflexively dropped the knife onto her chest and she grabbed it, sitting herself quickly upright, slashing round, cutting a deep slice into the nearest outstretched hand, and then round again, carving into a shoulder. She caused quite a bit of damage before the collar got her.

_You __**will obey**__!_

The knife fell to the floor with a clatter and she pressed her hands to her forehead, wincing, breathing caught, eyes squeezed shut.

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

The next thing she knew she was back on the table again. This time the grips on her arms were much rougher, tighter, so tight she could feel the blood stopping, unable to get through.

249 stood over her, smiling again, the blade back in his hand, held loosely by his side, "Good one. You're very good. A proper Crucible winner, yeah? You've got fight in your blood, darling. Y'know what? I think I'm gunna forbid you from picking up any weapon. Yeah. Sounds good. So... no guns, no blades, no knives. Deal?"

The collar released, and she looked up at him, raising an eyebrow, scathingly, "That's going to be difficult at dinner."

He smiled back at her, "Ooh, _very_ quick girl."

"You think I can't kill you without a weapon?"

"No, actually, I don't. But it'll put your chances down a bit, right?" he surveyed her, his eyes taking on an almost _distasteful_ look, "Nasty little pit dog, aren't you?"

"Sure as hell am. So go on. _Try_ me."

He raised an eyebrow, and then shook his head, smiling. He opened his mouth to form a reply but then stopped.

Another Officer had moved in front of him, taken the blade from his hand, silently. Blade frowned at him slightly. He still had his mask on. He didn't have any identification stripes, and he hadn't said a word, so she couldn't tell him apart. Who _was_ he?

Another officer smiled, "Oh, looks like 720 wants his go."

720? She'd never heard of him. _And_... despite that officer's cocky smile... she could see something in his eyes... something almost like... _fear_.

She watched him move closer to her, put a hand on her stomach. They had ripped off her jacket a few minutes ago, so all he had to do was undo her shirt and pull it aside. She fought, ferociously, twisting her wrists to try and get the officers off of her but they had their grips firm this time. She could barely move. 720 climbed onto the table, his knees in between her legs, one hand bracing his weight on the table beside her shoulder, then shuffling upwards so he could reach her. He paused, and then raised a hand to his head and pulled off his mask.

* * *

It took everything Blade had not to flinch. The automatic reaction upon seeing a face like that was well ingrained in her now - something like blind terror. It took some time for her to realise the differences, force her heart to calm. This wasn't him. This wasn't the Commandant. This was... _another_ Commandant.

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

She sometimes believed very strongly that whatever Gods there were up there had a very sick sense of humour.

"Well." She said, finally, managing to keep her tone level, "Another of our Lord's failed experiments, I see." she said, looking him up and down somewhat warily. He was the splitting image of the Commandant, only with a darker shade of skin, almost black.

The thing didn't reply, just gave a small, twisted smile.

"Not failed." Bradshaw corrected, firmly, "_Improved_."

She nodded, slowly, ignoring the officer, looking at the experiment in front of her, this time her distaste evident, "Yes, because I can _certainly_ see how you've been improved. Cut a kid open, stick in a few bits of Spire and then stitch 'em back up again? Yes, that seems _very_ like Fairfax's view of _'perfection'_..."

"His view is logical."

"Yes. _Very_ logical. Nothing human _in_ him anymore, _is_ there."

"You are Recruit 273." The thing said, suddenly. Their voices were the same. Him and the Commandant. Deep, dark, and somehow with a tint of metal. Grating through her head.

She nodded, slowly, "Yes. Does my reputation precede me so much?"

He didn't reply, instead seeming content to just look her over, thoughtfully, frowning slightly.

Blade raised an eyebrow, and then turned to Bradshaw, "Not a talker, is he."

"All the new Spire beings were warned about you." He explained, shaking his head.

"Who by, our friend the Commandant?"

"All guards were told that Recruit 273 is a rogue element. And must be broken at all costs."

"Yeah, and there's a promotion for whoever manages to do it, I kind of realised. So, what, you're thinking of cashing in?" then she shook her head, correcting herself: "Sorry, I meant thinking of _trying_ to cash in?"

He tilted his head slightly to one side, smiling slightly, "Well, why not?" He glanced back up at 720 again, and then shot her another smile, "I'm sure our officer here can convince you to our cause."

"_Your_ cause?" she shook her head, giving a small, sharp laugh, "It was _never_ '_your cause'_. It was _Lucien's_." she glanced up at the Spire being, firmly, "And when he's through he'll throw you to the side, just like all the others."

"I am obedient."

She shook her head, disgustedly, "I _bet_ you bloody are. But that's because you don't know how _not_ to be. You don't know anything _different_. You don't _know_ freedom. But _I __**do**_. And I'm not going to let that go so easily."

"We will see." He pulled off his gloves, slowly, exposing flesh just as cracked and altered as on his face. He put a hand on her bare neck. A shiver of disgust moved through her, automatically, as she felt his splintered skin on hers, and she recoiled, trying to get away from him.

"Hey hey, methinks she likes it."

She ignored the rookies, keeping her eyes on the main man, his hand moving down her neck towards her stomach, "Don't touch me. Get your hands off me. _Now_!"

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

His hand stopped, and then moved back up again. He was frowning again, looking her over. He motioned to the officers holding her arms and he flipped them over, forcefully, his eyes moving over the other side.

She looked at him, warily, "What are you..."

He didn't reply, didn't even _acknowledge_ her. He continued looking over her skin, until he came back to her chest again. He put his hand over her heart, freakishly gently, pushing the strap of her bra down so he could see properly.

"One scar." He murmured, quietly, his finger feeling out the small, circular scar just below her left collarbone. Her skin crawled. "Just one scar."

She looked down at the hand, the finger circling the mark, and a mix of fear and anger seized her heart, "Don't touch me." She said, quietly, her voice shaking very slightly.

He ignored her. Then he turned to the nearest guard and pulled the gun out of their holster. He paused, thoughtfully, and then held the barrel to the mark.

Jaina's breath stopped, caught solid in her chest. She closed her eyes and turned her head away from him. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Her one scar. The only wound she hadn't been able to heal in time. Supposedly she had come off lucky. _Supposedly_.

_This wasn't what I wanted. But __**nothing**__ must stand in my way._

She winced, and pushed the memory away, quickly. She couldn't deal with this now.

"What's it from?" 534 asked, curiously, "Gunshot?"

"Aw, no _way_ man, look where it is! That's straight to the heart! Woulda killed her straight."

But the hybrid continued moving the gun over the scar. He was convinced. She glanced back at him, and he looked up at her, frowning slightly.

She looked straight back. She was shaking slightly, uncontrollably.

_M'lord? What's happened? What's that light?_

Was he wondering how she survived, like the others? Was he wondering where it was from? How she'd manage to heal all other injuries before they could scar, but not this one?

_**What**__? No, wait! __**NO**__!_

She closed her eyes again, shuddering. She couldn't let them see this weakness. But she couldn't stop herself.

The metal left her skin, and she looked up again. He'd given the pistol back to its owner. And turned back to the knife.

He took it, moving it up slightly so he was holding it by the blade, looking at her for a moment. He didn't speak. She looked from him to the blade and then to the scar on her shoulder, her bare skin. She shook her head, slowly, "No. Oh no, don't you dare."

He gave a small, Commandant-like smile. Then dug down with the blade.

* * *

He didn't go deep. Blade brought in a sharp hiss of breath, buckling, fighting with the grips on her arms, trying to get away from the knife. Blood spilled down her, trickling down her chest and neck, sliding down under the collar to her jaw.

She fought ferociously, wrestling with the officers' grips, stabs of pain running through her.

The hybrid frowned as something seemed to go wrong with his cuts. He shook his head and moved further up her, knees either side of her waist, just below her arms. He leant down so he could keep his 'canvas' in the right position.

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

"Keep her still." He said, softly, and the men instantly doubled their grips, forcing her down into the table.

Blade watched his hand, her breathing rough in her chest, biting down hard on her lower lip, bracing herself for the next cut. It came and her head smashed back, "_Fuck_!"

"Whoa, she's got a nasty mouth for such a sweet little girl, aint she?"

Another shook his head, "I dunno. I kinda _like_ her mouth." He leant down, securing a rough grip on her chin, forcing her thrashing head to him.

She fought with him, letting out a low snarl and pain and anger, "Officer, let me be straight with you, you put your tongue in my mouth and I'll bite it straight off! Let _go_ of me! 720, get _off_ of me, get the _fuck __**away**_ from me!"

720 dug in another cut and she flinched, letting out a low snarl of pain, struggling again, "720... get off me. _Now_."

He shook his head, and continued carving her shoulder. Pain spread like fire across her skin and she looked up, looked at what he was doing. He was cutting circles into her shoulder, circles around the scar, where the bullet had gone in. He caught her looking and gave her a small smile, putting a finger on the mark, "Bull's eye." He said, still smiling.

Anger burned through her, and she fought with him, pushing out, trying to get him off.

Her head was yanked back round again, and, before she had time to react, the officer pushed his mouth onto her, forcefully, swallowing her next gasp of pain. At the same time 720 moved the blade, cutting down again in a new spot. She swore, violently, her voice muffled slightly, fighting with grips of steel, still not making any headway. The guy kept his grip firm, his mouth clamped on hers, so tight she couldn't breathe, and with the 720's show going on on top of her she was needing more breath than ever. He moved back slightly and she pulled away, dragging in gasp after gasp of breath, filling her lungs with oxygen.

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

He smiled, "Oh, she's a sweet little bitch."

"How old d'you think she is, twenty-five? Thirty?"

"I dunno. How old _are_ you?"

She shook her head, angrily, "I _don't know_."

"How can you not _know_?"

"'Cause I don't know how long I've _been_ here! I was twenty-three before I got to this shit hole, does that answer your goddamned question?"

"So she has to be at least thirty, right?"

"Yeah. Maybe older."

The guy who kissed her shook his head, smiling, "Still. Bet she's tight for her age."

She managed to yank her head back out of his grip, anger and disgust clear on her face, and he smirked, "Yeah, bet she is."

"You don't know, 340," Bradshaw said, smiling, "She might've had herself a little husband back home."

"Husband? I doubt it. She don't seem like the type to put all her eggs in one basket."

340 raised an eyebrow, curiously, glancing at the other officer, "You think she was a bit of a free-for-all?"

"Well, why not? She was a Crucible champion! Spent most of her time in _Westcliff_, as I heard it. We all know what it's like up _there_. She wouldn't have lasted long."

Bradshaw shook his head, "Y'know, I think I prefer the image of her stickin' it out with a husband. Thick and thin, y'know? Him waitin' for her to come home after the Crucible, worried sick about her with all those filthy Westcliff dogs."

"You think maybe she went _off_ with all those filthy Westcliff dogs?"

"Nah, she's a _good_ little girl! She wouldn't cheat on the love of her life! Bet she didn't even fuck _him_ 'til they were married."

340 smiled, "Maybe." He turned back to her, smiling again, "What d'you think, sweetheart. How close to the quick are we getting? D'you have a man back home?"

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

She answered his question with a low growl, and moved her attention back to the hybrid, "720, _GET THE FUCK OFF ME_!"

"Ooh, hit a raw nerve, I see? Well. It just so happens we've got ourselves a little way of making you talk. _Haven't_ we."

Impossible to feel more than one pain at the same time? Bullshit. The collar sliced through her head as the hybrid dug in a little deeper with the knife. Pain came from both sides, and the metal compressed her throat, making her gasp for breath. And these officers didn't know the meaning of restraint. The pain in her head was _excruciating_. She couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't _think_. Her chest was on _fire_, every move she made spreading white-hot streams of pain through her body.

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

The collar released, "Well?"

She shook her head, immediately, "I don't know. I don't _remember_."

534 laughed, shaking his head, "She's _lying_! She _does_ have a guy back home!"

She gritted her teeth, "I _don't __**know**_!"

"Aw, you're such a little _liar_, sweetheart! Go on, then, what's his name?"

"I don't know."

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

The collar pulsed. Pain split through her again. She couldn't cope with this for much longer. Her eyes were darkening.

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

"What's his _name_."

"I _don't know_."

Michael Rose Marie Mattie Michael Rose Marie Mattie

"Yes you do, come on, _tell_ us."

_Michael Rose Marie Mattie Michael Rose Marie Mattie_

"_I can't remember!_"

"_What's his name_."

Michael. Michael. _Michael_.

"_Michael_!"

"You _remember_."

* * *

Blade looked up, slowly. Her heart had stopped in her chest.

The hybrid was staring at her, suddenly seeming much more alert, his antics with the knife completely forgotten. "_You_ _**remember**_." He repeated, slowly, looking at her.

She shook her head again, almost desperately, "I don't. I _don't_ remember, I _don't_!"

"You remember you're married."

"No."

"You remember his _name_."

"_No_."

"Holy shit, she _has_!" 340 said, giving a small, astounded laugh, "Shit. She's got herself a man."

"That's how she's holding on." She jerked her head round. Bradshaw was watching her now, an almost amazed expression on his face, "That's how she's stopped herself from breaking."

"She's got someone _waiting_ for her." 534 said, slowly, his eyes too fixed on her.

No. No. Oh _Avo_, no. They'd worked it out. They'd figured it out. Now they could... now they could...

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

_No_! She couldn't let them go. She _wouldn't_!

But Bradshaw shook his head, slowly, and said the words she had known he was going to say: "We've gotta get her to the Commandant."


	14. Discovery

**Discovery**

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

The Commandant's gaze burned through her. The other officers hadn't bothered to re-clothe her, so she was still standing in her bra and regulation guard trousers. The spikes of the collar felt cold on her bare shoulders. Blood slid unheeded down her arm, covering the pattern the hybrid had sliced into her flesh. She knew the only reason he hadn't healed it was because he wanted it to leave a scar. He wanted her to see it. He wanted to mark her.

The hybrid was standing back, behind his master, next to a crackling fire. His eyes were locked on her. She could feel the burn on the side of her face.

The Commandant's yellow eyes finished their appraisal. They moved back up to her face. "So. _Michael_."

Blade shook her head, immediately, "I don't know what they're talking about."

"And you wouldn't be _lying_, of course."

"Of course." Her voice was stable, still, completely calm.

"So you have no idea who this _Michael_ is, then?" he continued, slowly, "Even though _you_ said the name."

"Yes, I... I _did_ say Michael. I lied."

"Why."

"Because I thought... I thought it would get them off me. Get them away from me. They thought I was lying when I said I couldn't remember if I had a husband, so they were using the collar. I thought... giving them a different answer... would..."

"Would make them _accept_ it?" he completed, raising an eyebrow.

"I guess."

"Hmm." He looked at her for a moment. He glanced back over his shoulder. The hybrid gave a small shake of the head, his expression unreadable. The Commandant nodded, thoughtfully, and then turned back to her, "Well. Good story."

"_True_ story." She replied, firmly.

"Of course. Well, 273... that would be _believable_... if it wasn't for _this_." He pulled a small, leather covered book out of his pocket, showing it to her, raising an eyebrow.

Her heart missed a beat, and then came back twice as fast.

"What's that?" She managed, raising an eyebrow.

"You don't recognise it?"

"Not really, no."

"Found under _your_ bedroll."

"I've never seen that thing in my life." She replied, firmly. The slight shake in her voice told the truth.

He nodded, slowly, looking at her. "Okay. Then let's have a look, shall we?"

Her whole body tensed. He flipped over the cover and turned to the first page. He flicked through a few pages of sketched pictures until he got to the first page of writing. He skimmed through it, raising an eyebrow, and then picked out a particularly relevant passage: "_If I cannot be Jaina in case of rousing Lucien's suspicions, I must remain Blade. I cannot become Recruit 273. I __**will**__ not_." he glanced at her, "Jaina? That's your real name? Why were you worried about rousing Lucien's suspicions? What are you _up_ to?"

She didn't reply, didn't say a word, and he turned back to the book, opening it on a random entry, "_This place is driving me mad. The only thing keeping me sane is my Michael. My children. I have to get back to them_." He flicked through, going past a few chunks until something again caught his eye: "_Bob is dead. The Commandant told me to kill him. I couldn't. Who will tell his wife._ The only entry for that day." He brought the book down, looking at her, raising an eyebrow, "I think we've heard enough, right?"

She just looked at him, shaking her head, slowly. Her heart was speeding up, so fast it was almost a _hum_ in her chest. She knew it was useless. He had already won.

He tapped the book in his hand, "This... this is it. This is the key. Something outside these walls. This is the link."

"No." She managed, slowly, her voice almost breaking.

"This is what you're hanging on to."

"No."

"This is why you can defeat the collar."

"_No_."

"This is why you can disobey."

She looked at him. She was shaking her head again. She felt sick. She could feel her heart fluttering painfully fast in her stomach. No. This wasn't it. This _couldn't_ be it. After all those years fighting it _couldn't_ end like this.

The Commandant watched her, thoughtfully, "Do you remember what I said all those years ago? That first time I met you? I told you I'd break you. You are nothing more... than the next link in the chain. And now I've found how to break it." He pointed out a line on the page, "Michael, Rose Marie, Mattie."

Her heart stopped and she took a sharp step forwards, "No! Take whatever you want, just, just not them. No. Leave me them. _Please_. I'll do whatever you want, I'll do what I'm told, I'll _obey_! Just, please, _leave me them_!"

He looked at her, then back at the pages of the book, "Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Your links. Y'know, the funny thing is, I don't even _need_ the collar to get rid of them. All I need to do is _this_." In one, flowing movement, he deftly ripped the book in half and then threw it into the fire.

"_No_!" she darted forwards and the hybrid immediately lashed out, pushing his blade to her neck, stopping her in her tracks.

She fought him like crazy, desperately trying to get nearer to the fire. The flames licked at the pages, catching easily, blackening the leather cover and torching the paper inside.

Her struggles slowly faded. She let her hand fall back to her side. "No." She whispered, shaking her head, slowly.

The Commandant watched her all the way. His burned yellow eyes contained a dash of vicious triumph that would usually have brought up a deep spark of anger inside of her. But now there was nothing. She felt... _empty_.

"Now. _That_ should keep you a bit more submissive. Take her away. Give her some time to mull this over."

The hybrid dragged her away from the fire, blade still planted firmly at her throat. He didn't need it. She didn't fight. She couldn't bring up the energy.


	15. New End

**New End**

Blade grabbed the knife, ignoring the squeeze of the collar on her neck, the voice of Lucien in her head, and sliced down across her arm.

_Obey! You were told not to touch weapons!_

Pain burned immediately but that was okay, in fact, that was _good_, that meant she was going deep enough, deep enough to slice apart those veins, tear open those arteries. Deep enough to scar.

_**Obey**__! You must __**not**__ carry a blade! You __**must**__**obey**__!_

Curses moved over her lips and she no longer cared who heard them. She didn't have time, she was running out of _time_!

Her book was gone, her only vent, her only link to the outside world, a world beyond this hell, her home.

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

_**Put down the knife!**_

No! No she _couldn't_! She wouldn't _listen_!

Another slice. The word was starting to take shape. The more pain she caused, the deeper she forced in the blade, the better it was, the more the lines took shape, the more familiar they started to look.

Her head felt like it was going to break, Lucien's voice screaming through her, louder and more demanding than she had ever heard it before, _ordering_ her to obey him.

Next letter. Blood spilled fresh as she cut into fresh new skin. She was so close. She felt the collar squeezing so tight she couldn't breathe, but she kept going, _faster_, knowing she didn't have long before she blacked out.

Her arm slipped on the bloody table, and she moved it back, quickly, finishing off the last curve, the last letter. She finished just in time. She couldn't hold on for any longer. She collapsed.

* * *

The Commandant found her around an hour later, face down in a pool of drying blood. He looked at her for a second, thoughtfully, and then moved over to her, putting out a hand to check her life signs. She was breathing. Her heart was still beating, just. Her pulse was weak and thready in her neck.

He gave a sharp command to the guard behind him to fetch the doctor, and then took a chair, moving it to beside her. He watched her for a moment, and then tilted her head slightly to one side, gently. Her face was covered in blood, the thick red liquid smeared over her lips. But there was no sign of lesion. He glanced down, finding the source of the blood. Deep, long cuts spread along her arm, though, oddly, not near her wrist as he would have expected from an attempted suicide.

He lifted her head, sliding out her arm from underneath her. He took a bed sheet from the floor and wiped at the blood, rubbing some off. He kept doing so until all the wounds were exposed.

His eyebrow raised and he gave a small, grim smile. He was unsurprised. Embedded in her flesh, cut deep, was the word 'Rose'.


	16. Old Scars

**Old Scars**

Recruit 273 woke to a deep pain spreading along her body. She winced, rolling her head painfully to one side. Everything hurt, every move, every breath. She pushed out her hands, and managed to get into a sitting position. Avo. What had _happened_? She stretched out her neck and the collar spiked against her back, painfully. She grimaced, putting a hand under the metal. Her skin was raw. She'd certainly been _disobeying_, what_ever_ she had been doing.

She sat herself up properly, propping her back against a wall behind her. She looked around. She was in the Centre. The Healing Centre. Doc's, as the recruits called it. She frowned and glanced herself over. There was a new bandage tied tightly around her left forearm, and another around her chest, crossing just underneath the left side of her collarbone, above her bra. She yanked the bandage off, quickly, and inspected the flesh underneath. What the _hell_..? The old, circular scar was now surrounded by fresher cuts, healing but still visible, rings, three of them, circling the scar. What... where had _they_ come from? She let a finger move over the rings, following them, and then down to the scar in the middle.

Bull's eye.

She shook her head, firmly, deciding to move her bedraggled mind onto something else, turning to the next bandage, rolling it down. The cuts here had healed well. There was only the faintest lines visible, forming one word.

"Good morning."

* * *

273 started, flinching back against the wall. She swore violently under her breath as the cuts on her shoulder twisted, painfully, and then looked around the room, quickly. A guard was sitting in the far corner, his face shrouded in shadow.

_Amateur dramatics, anyone?_ She thought, scathingly.

"What's going on." She asked, slowly, "How did I get here."

"You don't remember?"

"No." She paused for a moment. His voice... It sounded so familiar... She looked at the shadow, gathering her breath, "Commandant?"

She could sense a smile, "Not quite."

The man got up and walked towards her.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart fluttered. Then she shook her head, slowly, "Another of Lucien's failed experiments, I see." She said, flatly, her skin tingling slightly at the sight of him, "How many of you _are_ there."

"As many as needed."

She looked him over. His cracked, fractured skin was dark, almost black, but other than that, he could have been the Commandant's twin. He looked so similar. No. _Familiar_.

No. Wait. Hang on a second... She looked at him, frowning slightly, her eyes moving over his fractured skin and black clothing. She was sure she just... Was he... _familiar_?

_No. It's just him looking like the Commandant. You don't know him._

She nodded, slowly. Then she shook her head again, "How long have I been here?"

He tilted his head slightly to one side in a sort of half-shrug, "Two weeks?"

"Two... two_ weeks_? What's... what's going on?"

He shook his head, immediately, "I'll let the Commandant explain it."

She nodded, slowly. But he was still watching her, closely. She glanced at him, expectantly, and then shook her head, "What."

"It's just..." he paused, looking at her, taking a few steps forwards so he could read her reaction, "You really don't remember what happened?"

Familiar?

"No."

Bull's eye.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

You _remember_.

She shook her head, firmly, ridding herself of the scattered words in her head. They made no sense. This thing standing in front of her, this hybrid... she'd never seen him before. So why did she feel like she recognised him? Déjà vu. That was it. That _must_ be it. Just déjà vu. It would go after a while.

The Commandant walked through the door, shattering her previous thoughts. She looked at him, sharply, her body tensing reflexively. He began to walk over to her, but the second hybrid took him by the arm, pulling him a few steps away and whispering something in his ear. The Commandant nodded, thoughtfully, responded, and then moved closer.

He stopped beside the table she was sitting on, looking at her, "Good morning 273."

"Sir." She replied, warily.

He watched her for a second, and then shook his head, "I've heard you have no memory of why you're here."

"Yes, sir."

"Any ideas?"

"No, sir."

"What do you last remember?"

She thought about it.

This is why you can disobey... Y'know, the funny thing is, I don't even _need_ the collar.

She shook her head, firmly, "I don't... I don't know. How did I get here."

"You were taken down with a fever." He replied, slowly, "Delirious. Slicing away at your arm with a blade."

Blade.

She shook her head again, trying to stop the strange, scattered thoughts. Then she looked down at her arm. She traced the scars again. She looked up at him, nodding at her arm, "This? This is what I did?"

"Yes."

"Rose..." she looked at the writing, thoughtfully. It rang a bell.

The Commandant watched her, "Do you know who that is?"

A gunshot - _bang!_ - another, back through the window - _smash!_ - silence.

She shook her head, slowly, "No idea."

He paused, eyes locked on hers, as if gauging her honesty. Then he nodded, slowly, "Right." He paused again, and then shook his head, "Construction of the upper tier begins tomorrow. We are very near to our goal."

She nodded, absently. That was good.

"But the man guarding the site is overdue reporting in. Guard 239. We cannot have disobedience. Find out what's happened." He tilted his head slightly to one side, thoughtfully, "You can consider this a chance to redeem yourself."

273 nodded again. Redeeming herself. That would be a good idea.

"If you find the man in dereliction of duty... escort him to the torture chamber and await further orders."

She winced, inwardly, making sure no sign of her discomfort showed on the outside. She hated the torture chamber. Poor guy. But she had been given an order. She would have to fulfil it.

The Commandant looked at her, "Is that understood?"

She nodded, slowly, getting to her feet, "Yes, sir."

Her clean guard shirt was on a chair next to her, so she slid it on, tucking it in, neatly, finding her jacket underneath and pulling that over her arms and buttoning it. She took her gloves out of the pockets and pulled them on. It was cold on the outside of the Spire. She'd need the warmth.

She stretched out her shoulders, ignoring the faint pain along the cuts, cricking her neck. Then she moved past the Commandant and his hybrid friend and out of the door. She didn't have much time.

* * *

After a few questions, she had managed to get a rough idea of where the missing guard had got to. A few officers had seen him going towards the west side a few hours before, but hadn't seen him since. One of the officers gave her a strange look when she stopped them. When she had gone, he turned to his comrades and started up a frantic, whispered conversation. About Guard 239? No. About _her_? Maybe. Didn't really matter. She had a job to do.

The fact that 239 had gone to the west side surprised her. Construction had long since finished there; the whole side was completely empty. She looked around her as she stepped out the door. No-one.

She hesitated, thinking about the likelihood of him still being here, and then sighed, wearily, and kept moving, going further out. She'd told the guard on the door that she'd only be a few moments looking, but if she had come out this early he would have known she hadn't searched thoroughly, and would have surely reported her to the Commandant for dereliction of duty.

273 moved all the way to the very edge of the Spire, searching for the AWOL guard for a good twenty minutes. Then she shook her head again, and turned, heading back to the door. Maybe the guards were mistaken, maybe they had seen someone else heading this way. She'd check the barracks; maybe he'd gone back there.

Something caught her eye.

She stopped, frowning. Then she crouched down, running a finger along the floor and then holding it up for her to see. Blood. She looked up. There was more, a few feet away. Splatters, like a trail. She followed it, working her way on her hands and knees. It led into another room, a previous barracks when this side was populated. In the far corner was a body.

Recruit 273 moved over to it, slowly. She put a hand out to the man's neck, checking his pulse. Nothing. She gave a low sigh, crouching back on her haunches. Guard 239. Well. At least he wouldn't have to face his punishment now.

"We meet again, Hero."

* * *

273 spun round, automatically getting to her feet. Her heart thumped hard in her chest. "Who's there?"

The man took a step towards her, putting himself into the light, "It's alright. It's me."

Her eyes moved over him, warily. He was tall and dark-skinned, with greying hair pulled back on his head. His accent had been thick, something she couldn't quite place.

She shook her head, slowly, "Who are you."

He paused, frowning slightly, and then let out a slow almost _sad_ sigh, "Ah. So they have got to you then. I had feared this, Blade."

"_What_ did you call me?"

He sighed again. Then he shook his head, "Your collar has restricted you. You are a Hero from Albion. You came to rescue me."

"_Rescue_ you." She repeated, her voice not sceptical or mocking, merely completely confused.

"Yes." He replied, simply, "We've spoken many times since you first came here, but never in full. You told me you came here to save me."

"We've spoken before?"

"Yes."

She looked at him for a second. A sudden dose of desperation had hit her, a thick need, and she was struggling to keep herself calm, "Did we... did we talk about... about the outside? About what's out there? Do you... Do you know..." she dragged off her jacket and yanked up her sleeve, exposing the recent scars, "Do you know what this means? This word? What it means?"

He looked at it, frowning slightly. He put a gentle hand on her skin, running a finger over the marks. He glanced up at her, "You did this?"

"Yes. Do you know what it means?"

He looked at her for a second. Understanding seemed to pass over him. "Rose." He said, quietly, "Rose Marie. It's the name of your daughter."

Her heart sunk. "I... I have a _daughter_?"

"Yes. You left your family behind to come here. And now we need to get out."

"We're getting out?" she asked, immediately, looking at him, "_How_?"

"There's only one way off this place. The docks. We need to get to a boat."

She shook her head, slowly, "We'll never get within a hundred miles, recruits aren't allowed down there, especially not imprisoned Will-using recruits."

"I know. We'll have to fight our way there."

She looked at him, then shook her head again, "I... I can't fight them."

"I know. You're no good to either of us with that collar on."

"But... how do I get it off?"

He paused, looking at her, "This is going to hurt."

She frowned, "_What_ is?"

Lightning flew at her, hitting the collar smack on, sending horrific, splintering pain straight through her. She fell to the floor, her hands grabbing at her throat, unable to breathe, unable to _think_, only aware of the pain, the pain jolting through her.

The world outside these marvellous walls is a corrupt, rotting husk. Reason is absent. Instead of order... there is _chaos_.

"Stay still. I'm sorry. It will be over soon. Don't fight it."

Chaos does not punish evil, or reward righteousness. Chaos cuts innocent lives short, and we are to accept this as _fate_. I beg to differ.

Pain burned through her and she yanked at her collar, trying to pull it off, feeling blood start to trickle down over her fingers as she reopened a once-healed sore.

And as long as your heart continues to beat... all I require of you... is _obedience_.

Places. Grew up in Bowerstone Old Town. Bowerstone Old Town, Bowerstone Cemetery, Bowerstone Market, the clock tower, Fairfax Castle, the archaeology site - Belle - the Gargoyle's Trove. Then I moved to Bower Lake, the gypsy camp, Heroes' Hill, the caves, the caves I used to explore as a child, the lake, picnics with Rose Marie, oh Avo, Rose Marie, Mattie, Michael.

Oakfield, the Temple of Light, Westcliff... Rookridge, the Temple of Shadows... Brightwood, Brightwood Tower... the Bandit Coast... the Crucible...

273 shook her head, violently, tears streaming down her cheeks, her fingers on her right hand aching like hell as she yanked at the metal cage, pulling at it, feeling so dizzy, like she was going to pass out, constant messages of pain assaulting her senses.

Rose.

There was a click, a loud, resounding click, and her collar fell to the floor.

* * *

273 raised a shaking hand to her neck. She winced, feeling the open cuts, the hundreds of wounds opened and reopened over the years.

Then she raised her head. Garth stood in front of her. Garth. She knew his name.

"Garth." Her voice was small, weak, trembling. She stumbled to her feet, eyes locked on his. She stared at him for a moment. Then she shook her head and ran to him, dragging him down into a hug, "_Avo_ it's good to see you!"

He stood still, completely surprised, shaking his head and struggling weakly against her grip, "Whoa, whoa, let me down."

She shook her head, "Not a chance!"

She gripped the back of his head and pulled him down again, "It's good to _hear_ you properly, too. All that Will stuff was doing my head in." She glanced at her arm, and then disentangled herself from him, slowly, "And, speaking of Will stuff..."

Thin blue lines spiralled across her skin, moving right up to her sleeves, across her neck, tattooing her pure skin for the first time in so many years. She flexed her fingers, and then experimentally flicked her wrist. A small fireball appeared above her hand, glowing, easily lighting the small room.

She watched it for a second, smiling, slowly, and then hurled it away from her, watching it shoot out to sea. She drew in a slow, deep breath, feeling a long-unused power seep through her veins, "God, it's been ages since I last did that."

"How does it feel?"

"_Oh_, just... _amazing_."

Garth smiled at her, slowly, "Welcome back, Blade."

She glanced at him. Blade. She shook her head, slowly, "Garth. They've taken something from me. They... the collar... but I can't remember."

"You'll remember it eventually. But now we have to leave."

She nodded, slowly. She turned back to the dead guard and quickly relieved him of his weapons, searching through his jacket until she found a few health potions. She pocketed them, and then turned, sliding the pistol into a holster on her belt and then, as an afterthought, picking up the broken collar and sliding that in too. A reminder for when she left this place.

She looked back at the sword - a rather mediocre Steel Cutlass - and shook her head, "Can't wait 'til I get mine back."

"You _remember_ your blade?" he asked, swiftly.

She shook her head again, "Not really. Just know it's gotta be better than _this_ one." Then her eyes moved back to him, looking him over, cautiously. He looked... tired. Weak.

"Can you walk?" she asked, slowly.

He gave a grim nod, "I can travel. But it took me years to focus enough Will to destroy our collars - and that guard. I've got nothing left. So when trouble comes... it's up to you."

She nodded, slowly, smiling slightly lopsidedly, "You really are astonishing. I didn't even think it was _possible_. I mean... _I_ know Will. But I'm not _you_. Nowhere _near_. Lucien was a _fool_ to think he could contain you."

The man shook his head and muttered a curse in a language she didn't understand, "Oh, _Lucien_..."

"Don't worry about him. Maybe not today, but one day... I'll take him down."

"Leave that to me."

"No. Believe me. The pleasure will be mine." She looked back at her arm, the cuts in it, feeling an old, dark anger rise inside of her, "It's not Rose Marie. It's just Rose. Just my Rose." She paused, and then rolled the sleeve back down, "If they thought they could take that from me then they are _highly_ mistaken." She paused, and then looked up at him, "We've gotta get moving."

He nodded, "The only way out of the Spire is through the Commandant's chamber."

"Oh. Well. Of _course_ it would be. Fantastic." She couldn't help but feel a vicious anticipation deep in her chest. All the years she had longed to kill him... Maybe she wouldn't get a chance. But, if she did, she was going to take it.

She kept her sword in her hand, walking swiftly out the door, a hand held out to Garth's shoulder to hasten him on. Her heart was pumping again, adrenaline and Will coursing through her body, the feeling unlike any other, spurring her on. She felt like she was _alive_ again. This was going to be... _eventful_.

"Garth?"

He glanced at her, "What."

"What was that you called me?"

He gave a small, dark smile, "_Blade_."

"Blade..." She nodded, slowly. Her hand slipped instinctively onto the weapon, as if she was born for it. Then a smile moved slowly onto her face, "Sounds about right."


	17. The Sorcerer

**The Sorcerer**

Three guards were walking down the corridor. Blade immediately put a hand on Garth's arm, pushing him behind her, back round the corner. Her strong protective instinct had snapped back into place quite well, it seemed.

But they had seen her.

"Was that... 273?" one asked, slowly.

She felt them coming down the corridor, poised with her blade, holding her breath.

"I dunno. Hey! 273! What the hell are _you_ doing out here?"

They turned the corner. They didn't have a chance. The first got her blade straight through the stomach before he could pull in a breath, and she spun round, knocking back the next with a braced shoulder. A fireball quickly stopped the last one dead, throwing him backwards into the wall, torching his flesh, and she turned back to the second.

"What the fuck are you doing without your collar on." He growled, shaking his head, slowly.

"What I should have done a long time ago."

She slashed out her blade and he jumped back, avoiding it, coming back with his own, slashing upwards and catching her very slightly across the arm, barely drawing blood. She shook her head and pushed out with her Will, forcing a wall of power into him. But her power was rusty, and, instead of the slight bump she had meant to give him, the power threw him backwards, flying over the edge with a long scream.

She winced, "Oops. Not as quiet as I was hoping. Someone's probably gunna notice that."

Sure enough, an alarm pierced the air, a low, repeating claxon, the warning siren.

Garth swore under his breath, "They've sounded the alarm."

"Aw, let 'em come. I've been waiting for this for _far_ too long."

The sound of clattering feet announced the entrance of several guards in the corridor. Seeing their added number she stopped, pushing her blade hastily back into its holster and closing her eyes, holding out her hands.

She felt the temperature of the air go down a few degrees. Her hands shook at the power inside of her, willing her to let it out. She didn't, letting it build, fighting ferociously with the urge to release. A light wind blew over her, billowing across her long, ragged hair, sending it flying all over her face.

She could sense the guards drawing closer to her, slowly. They were unsure. They were right to be. She could feel the air stirring, energy pulsing through the room.

"Whenever you're ready, Hero." Garth said, uneasily. They _must_ be close then. She gave the power one last, fierce push, and then opened her eyes. Blue light crackled over her hands, sparkled, entombing the whole corridor in a brilliantly bright light.

She caught the eyes of the guard nearest to her, and smiled. Then she let go.

Lightning flew down from the sky, striking the floor with huge crashes, claps of thunder booming down the halls. She pushed again, guiding it, and it struck again, instantaneously hitting each one of the guards, throwing them back against the walls, jolts of blue power flooding their bodies. Within seconds they were all dead.

* * *

Blade stumbled back a few steps and shook her head, slowly, "Whoa. Head rush. Hell. _That's_ something I haven't done in a few years too. Whew. Really takes it out of you."

Garth glanced at her, quickly. She could feel blood on her face, dripping down her neck, and her breathing was rough, harsh in her chest.

"How are you feeling?"

"I feel _good_, I feel _strong_, I feel _powerful_!"

"You feel a _mess_."

"What?"

"You look like you're bloody hysterical. It's the Will. Calm yourself down."

"I'm not hysterical, I'm _free_."

"Not yet we're not." He replied, nodding grimly in front of him.

More guards, coming down the stairs.

Blade shook her head, almost exasperatedly, and took out the pistol and fired. The shot hit one smack in the shoulder, but, apart from wheeling him back a little, it had no effect.

A frown passed over her features and she glanced down at the pistol in her hand, curiously, "Oh... this is a _crap_ gun!"

The guy got to her and lashed out, catching her across the cheek, her own blood spilling out to mingle with the guards'. She let out a low growl and beat back his next swing, ferociously, countering another blade without so much as a second glance, taking on three opponents with her old fiercely fast pace. She dodged a sword that swung high over her head, yanking out the pistol and firing it into the nearest guard's face, taking him down immediately. A crap gun it may be, but few could survive a bullet to the forehead.

"Behind you!"

Blade caught the warning a second too late and the sword slashed down her back. She crumpled to the floor, pain slicing through her, but then forced herself back to her feet with a snarl. She turned round and threw out her hand, sending the offending guard flying back into the wall with a sickly crunch. She swung round, using the momentum to decapitate the last standing guard.

She let her sword hit the floor, and she doubled over, staying like that for a moment, catching her breath. Then she shook her head, wiped her blade clean on the dead man's jacket, and kept walking.

* * *

"Here we are."

Blade moved swiftly into the room, checking all inches of it, "Commandant? Sir?"

Garth raised an eyebrow, "_Sir_?"

She shot him a look and then kept moving, "No-one home. He was down with me at doc's about half an hour ago. Maybe he's still there."

"Doc's?"

"I cut open my own arm to make sure I remembered. Some of it's gone but I'll pick it up. I _know_ I will." She glanced at him, "You told me I had a daughter. Rose Marie. Was I married?"

"Yes."

"What was his name?"

"I... I'm sorry, I don't know. You never said."

"Of course not. If I had married I wouldn't want anyone to know it. I'd have kept it secret. So no-one knew my children were the spawn of a _Hero_."

"What makes you so sure?"

She gave a small, grim smile, "'Cause I might not know _them_. But I know _me_." She paused for a moment, thinking, "What did they take."

"They took your family. You know that."

"Yes, I do. But... there's something else. I can _feel_ it. Not just my family."

"_Just_ your family?" he repeated, shrewdly.

She glanced at him. Then she looked away. _Just her family_... Avo. She hoped she got her memories back soon. Or this was going to be one eventful homecoming.

She looked around her for a second. Then back to him, "We aren't leaving, are we."

"No."

"Not until we see the Commandant."

"Yes." He glanced at her, and gave a small, slow nod, "I know what you're thinking, but it's not revenge I'm after. Revenge is just a... fortunate by-product. We're not leaving until the Commandant is dead."

She paused for a moment, and then nodded, slowly, "Good."

She felt his eyes on her and glanced at him, a smile playing around her lips. Well. At least she was _honest_.

She moved away, climbing the short flight of stairs up to the viewing platform. She glanced over, and then frowned, "Uh-oh..."

"What." He asked, immediately.

"Take a look."

The Will-user moved beside her, glancing over the edge. He swore under his breath, again in that strange, exotic language, "A new load of recruits is being brought in."

"Yep."

"The guards will be doubled in numbers."

She nodded at the boats docked, of which there were three, "That's our ticket outta here."

"Yes. Our only way off this thing."

"So we better make sure we can get past them." Her eyes moved over his weak frame. She paused, and then shook her head, "You don't look so good."

"I'll be fine when I absorb some Will."

She paused, and then took out her blade, lowering it to her palm, "You can have some of mine."

"_No_." He put a hand on hers, quickly, stopping her, "No." He repeated, quietly, "No, I'm not having that."

"I don't understand."

"I don't need to feed off you. And I don't _want_ to."

She shook her head, impatiently, "Garth, this could help you _survive_."

"I can't sap your strength. It is better one powerful than two weak. Trust me." He looked at her, waited until she nodded, reluctantly, and then let his hand slip from hers, "The Commandant. He will suffice. When the Commandant has fallen I will regain my strength."

"Then you'll be waiting some time."

* * *

A bolt of lightning struck Garth straight in the back, throwing him to the floor. Blade spun around, drawing her sword easily, deftly. The face she saw didn't surprise her.

She raised her eyebrows, giving a small, sardonic smile, "Well. Speak of the devil."

The Commandant shook his head, slowly. Anger burned in his eyes at an intensity she had never seen before, an anger that would have usually make her shiver, but this time she met it with vicious satisfaction.

"_You_. I should have known _you_ would betray me."

"Yep." She replied, casually, "Shouldn't really be all that _surprised_, _should_ you."

He gave a low, angry snarl. Then he shook his head, "Lord Lucien will _kill_ me for failing to keep order. But I am obedient. And so, before he does, _I_ will eliminate _you_."

"Believe me, hybrid, _Lord Lucien_ won't get a _chance_. But before you die - which, by the way, you're _going_ to - you're gunna tell me something." Her smile faded, and her eyes became cold, "What did you take from me."

He raised an eyebrow, "Take from you?"

"You know what I mean. You know very _well_ what I mean."

He paused, and then gave a small smile, "No."

"You won't tell me? Why."

"Because you disobeyed."

She gestured angrily at her neck, "The collar's off now, _sir_, all cards are on the table, so I'll give you one more chance, _what_ did you _take_ from me."

He just looked at her, and she nodded, slowly, "So be it. Let's get this over with."

"Indeed."

Lightning sparked from his hands, making one, big ring around them. She looked it over, cautiously, "Garth?"

"I'm fine."

"Good. Stay out of the circle."

And without another word she stepped into it.

* * *

The Commandant was fast. She'd never seen him fight someone before, not a proper _battle_, anyway. He was _very_ fast. His Old Kingdom sword was brutal, augmented with all sorts of nasty little tricks, and it moved surprisingly quickly despite its apparent weight. The chipped blade was strong and cut deep, jagged slices into her flesh, sending fire in their wake.

Blade skipped back to avoid a fierce slash from his sword and then threw out a blast of Will to send him stumbling back, giving her enough time to heal her wounds. He was ferocious, a proper born fighter, and it was taking all she had just to stay on her feet.

The hastily drunk potion turned out to be pre-emptive, as the next slash cut her deep across her arm. She winced and stumbled back, cursing violently, holding a hand over the wound for a moment before realising that alone would not stop the bleeding. She didn't have time to take another potion, instead ducking his next swipe, countering the one after that. He threw out a hand and a wall of Will slammed into her, hacking deep into her legs, hurling her to the floor.

Pain spread quick and hot along her body, blood pumping out of an arterial wound. She fumbled with her jacket pocket, yanking out a potion and popping the cork. The Commandant lashed out with his sword, deftly forcing the small glass bottle out of her hand, smashing it into pieces on the floor. She shook her head, managing to prop herself up, frantically putting pressure on the deepest wound, the most dangerous, the one that would have her drained empty on the floor within a few minutes.

The Commandant paused for a moment, casually, watching her, knowing she wasn't going anywhere. Then he started towards her.

She tried to stand up but her legs would not move. The blood immediately seeped through the gaps in her fingers and she snarled, frustrated. It was odd, but she could feel hardly any pain. It was like something was _numbing_ her slightly. She shook her head, trying to clear it, her heart beating painfully tight in her chest as the Commandant came closer.

He knelt down in front of her, and then took her hand, forcing it off of the wound. Blood spurted out again and she winced, fighting with his grip, trying to return her hand to the gash. He wouldn't let her.

She fought frantically but in vain, feeling something fall on her, dizziness, a strange weakness, feeling blood pour around her, sticky and hot. The sword slipped from Blade's hand and she let her head fall back, feeling it hit the hard concrete behind her, still yanking her hand, trying to get it free.

Then she stopped. And looked up into his eyes.

The Commandant looked at her. "This is what is bred from disobedience."

"No." She managed, her breathing rough, "This is what is bred from Lucien's madness."

"He wants to save this world."

"He wants to _control_ this world. He won't stop... until he has complete control. You _know_ this."

"A world under his control will be better. Will be perfect."

"_Unrecognisable in its perfection_, yeah, save me the brochure talk. I know what this world will really be."

"And what is that?"

She looked at him, "Slavery."

He gave a small smile, and nodded. Yes. That's what the world will be. Slavery."

She glanced down at her wound. The blood flow was beginning to slow. Instead of the fierce, heated pain she felt at first it was now just a dull, low throb, small shots of pain moving over her abdomen. She was feeling so very drowsy. That couldn't be good. Was this what it felt like? Dying?

Her eyes were slipping shut. She forced herself to concentrate. She looked at him, feeling his grip on her hand loosening as he too saw her weariness. "What did you take."

He glanced at her, looking almost _surprised_, "You really want to know?"

"Yes. What did you take."

He looked at her, "One word."

She shook her head again, weakly. She hadn't got long. "What word."

"I didn't even know what it _meant_. I don't think _you_ did, not _really_. But it was ingrained in your senses. Even in your _diary_."

"My diary?"

"Yes, that little book you kept. Very clever of you. I don't even think you knew you were _doing_ it. Did you?"

"Doing what."

"On every entry. A little picture on the top. A small doodle. Some people would have missed it."

"What was it."

He paused for a moment, watching her, and then gave her a small, twisted smile, "A sparrow."

Come on, little Sparrow! Wake up!

She shivered. She couldn't help herself. _Sparrow_.

Oh, Castle Fairfax looks so beautiful in the snow...

Rose. Oh Rose.

She noted with relief that the odd stabbing pains were getting less frequent. Either she was getting better or she was dying.

At the moment, either one suited her.

"What does it mean."

"Why."

Her hand went completely slack and he released it, putting it back down by her side. "Mild curiosity. What does it mean."

"It was... it was my name. Once. Long ago. Years ago."

"But you said..."

She shook her head, slowly. The room was going dark. She closed her eyes with a soft sigh, the warm sensation of her own blood pouring down her leg now a mere blur. It didn't matter. "I said my name... _was_ Sparrow. I... I was a different person back then. Sometimes I had... doubts. But now... after all this time here... it's only made me... more sure."

"Sure of what?"

"That... my name... is _Blade_."

* * *

She took hold of her weapon and gave one swift strike. She caught the Commandant deep in the neck, slashing his throat wide open.

Blood immediately gushed from the wound, covering the Spire Guard uniform. The Commandant fell backwards, his hand automatically seizing his throat, blood pouring out in currents through his fingers. Blade's eyes followed him, watching as he put pressure on the wound that spurted the scarlet red blood, the free-flowing torrent of thick, slippery liquid that threatened to make even _her_ sick, pushing his hand over the gaping slash, searching in vain for some way to close it. But it was a losing battle, and he knew it. His eyes locked onto hers, the yellow, predatory eyes that had haunted her for so many years. There was no sign of malice now, no vicious triumph. There was... nothing. And, before long, he joined her on the floor, completely still.

* * *

Blade's eyes slid shut, her hand loosened on the sword, her head fell back.

"Blade? _Blade_. Blade, look at me, now."

She moved her head slightly to one side. She distantly felt hands on her shoulders, shaking her, and then they moved away, rifling through her jacket.

"Blade, you saved my life, let me return the favour." She felt cold glass on her mouth, her bottom lip, pressing down, firmly, "Drink this. Now."

She managed to take a few sips. She felt the distinctly bitter-sweet taste of a health potion hit her tongue, and immediately took another sip, managing to raise her hand up to the bottle, pushing a little herself. She felt the gentle heat move across her, like sunlight, and strength slowly started to return to her. She could open her eyes. She could move her head. She could force out an arm, push herself upright. She could look at him.

Garth looked at her, cautiously, "How you feeling?"

She paused for a moment, considering an appropriate response, "Fantastic. Just fantastic. Seriously, this is one of the best moments of my life."

He managed to give a small, wry smile - the first genuine smile she'd ever seen from him - and then held out a hand, helping her to her feet, "Come on, up you get."

She struggled to her feet, allowing the help, leaning heavily on his shoulder. She looked him over while she was at it, "You're looking substantially bluer."

He glanced at his shoulders, at the intricate blue lines spreading across his skin, "Yes. I took it from the Commandant. I think it's safe to say you don't need to protect me anymore."

"Yeah. Looks like it." She looked at him for a second, seriously, "You look much better."

"Thank you. Now. Can you stand?"

She paused, looking down at herself. She was still clinging onto him, using his shoulders to support her weight. She took an experimental step backwards. The cuts along her leg had healed, completely.

She paused, testing her weight on her legs, and then nodded, "Uh-huh."

"Good. Then let's get moving."

He walked into the middle of the room and then threw out his hands, lightning flying out of them and striking a circular platform by the side. A blue pulse seemed to come up from it, like raw power, swirling round the base.

"We can use this Cullis Gate to reach the docks. Come on."

She looked at it for a second, "Cullis Gate. Right. I remember that. Good."

She started to move towards it, but then stopped. She looked back down. The Commandant's decrepit body still lay on the floor in a growing pool of blood. She paused, and then reached down, pulling the Old Kingdom sword from his belt with a swift tug.

She looked at him for a second, and then shook her head, "That was for Bob." She threw the Cutlass down on the floor beside him, and then turned, moving over to the Cullis Gate, not looking back.


	18. Escape

**Escape**

Almost immediately the sound of gunfire racketed through Blade's ears. She dropped to the floor, reflexively, ducking behind a pillar and yanking out her pistol. She pulled the trigger rapidly, taking out the three guards on the gantries with five well-aimed shots, swinging around and throwing out a burst of Will, sending two more on the opposite side flying back into the sea.

Garth stood firm in the middle of the platform, his Will lines glowing fiercely in the low light. He raised his hands, and light pulsed around him, a deep, golden light, and then he pushed it out, sharply.

Blade ran over to him, following the light with her eyes, "Wait, what... what are you doing?"

"Watch."

He pushed the light further, and then fire came out of his hands, not the fireballs she was used to, fire in huge, long streaks, streaming across the sky like blades, pummelling down on two of the three boats in the quay. The effect was overwhelming; fire burned across the decks and snapped the bows completely in half, the boats folding in on themselves and sinking, cracked, down to the sea.

Garth lowered his arms, his eyes moving over the carnage he had wrought, "I fear perhaps I was a little over zealous..."

Blade looked at them for a moment, eyes wide, and then turned to him, "You blew up a _boat_! You blew up _two_ boats!"

He glanced at her, "Intimidating?"

She shook her head, still amazed, "Well _yeah_! Nothing says 'stay out of my way' better than blowing up a method of transportation!" she shook her head and laughed, not without a slight tinge of nervousness, "Oh, Garth, I _like you_."

"Thank you. Shall we proceed?"

She shook her head again, and moved past him, drawing her pistol and fluidly shooting the nearest Spire guard through the forehead. The next ran towards her far too quickly, and she easily speared him with her sword, spinning around and taking out the next in the same smooth movement. This new blade was far more suited to her tastes, deceptively light with a broader blade, and much stronger, with a fierce, augmented kick.

Before long, Blade was completely swallowed up in the battle, hearing the fights bursting out between Garth and others around her, the smell of blood and the sound of screaming clouding her senses. The constant fighting was both wearying and exhilarating, and the unexpected strength of the Spire Guards was keeping her on her toes.

Blade slashed her sword around, cutting a soldier behind her straight in the stomach. He leant over, reflexively, blood pouring from both the wound and his mouth, and she yanked her sword back again and rammed it straight into the middle of his forehead. She didn't stop to watch, instead choosing to pull her sword around again, taking a quick step back as the watching guard deflected it, and then driving it deep into his throat.

_Ooh, that's a lot of blood..._ her mind 'informed' her, impulsively, and she immediately crushed the thought back down. Maybe it wasn't their fault. Maybe it was their collars that had turned them into the monsters they were now. But that didn't change the fact that they were attacking her, and she needed to get past them to get out of this place.

She shook her head in a mostly symbolic gesture to rid herself of any lingering squeamishness, and then hacked off a nearby guard's hand without even the slightest hesitation. Another fell to the ground, and she ended it with a swift stab to the stomach. The chipped blade caught in the guard's carcass, so she put a foot on his chest, yanking it back with a distasteful squelch.

"On your right!"

She reached out without thinking and threw out a hand, the bubble of power sending the guard screaming over the edge and down into the sea.

She glanced up, shaking her blood-stained hair out of her eyes, shooting Garth a small smile of thanks. They were almost at the boat, almost clear. She pulled out her pistol and shot two more men that were guarding it, and then moved over to it, quickly, putting a foot onboard and clambering up, holding onto the railing, throwing bolts of lightning at the guards still onboard.

She jumped back off and then turned around, swiftly, her eyes catching onto Garth. He was fighting solely with his Will, throwing fireballs and bolts of lightning at his opponents, a shimmering field around him protecting him from attacks and three golden ghost-swords deflecting the guards' assaults.

Blade turned back to the ship, throwing off the ropes that moored it, chucking them deftly aboard. Then she turned to the group of men, the new recruits, and gestured to the ship, urgently, "Well, go on, then, get onboard! Get this ship ready! _Hurry_, go go _go_!"

She turned again, one foot on the deck the other on the pier, "Garth, we're leaving, come on!"

She pulled out her pistol and shot the man he was fighting against in the chest. He doubled over, and Garth deftly finished him with a pulse of lightning.

Then he turned, urgently, and began running towards the ship. She held out a hand and helped him up, pulling him down onto the deck just as the guys pulled up the anchor, readying the ship for passage. He shot her a small smile and she returned one, and then quickly turned to the man at the helm, "Get this thing moving, Captain!"

The guy nodded, quickly, and the floor juddered as the boat left its quay.

Blade grabbed wood, stabilising herself, and then shook her head, wearily, "Looks like it's gunna be a bumpy journey."

"We can dock at Oakfield." The 'Captain' said, slowly, "But the wind is low. It will take at least a week to get there."

"Really?" she thought about it, and then shook her head, slowly, "Well. We'll see about that."

Garth glanced at her, "Your Will is rusty," he said, neutrally, "Can you be sure of not hitting the ship?"

She shook her head, slowly, "Only one way to find out, right? Get me a shield up."

He paused for a moment, and then nodded, closing his eyes and calling on his Will.

* * *

Blade sat down, her hands resting on her knees, her eyes fluttering closed. She felt the first breath of wind on her neck, cold, carrying the sharp, salty smell of sea air. She concentrated, feeling more flutters of air, growing stronger until it was constant at her back. She felt cold go over her as the sky clouded, black thunderclouds moving over them. She started to shiver.

"What the heck is she doing?" one man whispered, and she could hear the unease in his voice.

She shook her head, frowning slightly, forcing herself to concentrate. She heard the first crash of thunder, and rain trickled down over her, making her shiver even more. She opened her eyes, looking up at the sky, allowing the rain to pour down her face. She relished the feeling. She hadn't felt fresh rain for some time.

She forced out more, more power, and she heard the sails getting whipped back against their masts behind her. A thick streak of lightning cracked across the sky, followed quickly by a roar of thunder. The wind had picked up, throwing her hair to the sides, spraying cold rain across her face, soaking her through. Another bolt, another crash. The storm was strong now, very strong, they were rocketing along, Garth's shield only just protecting them from the tempest around them. The Captain was managing to keep them steady, but only just.

"I can't hold her for much longer!" he yelled, his voice harsh over the sound of the wind, "You've got to calm it down!"

Blade shook her head, barely listening to him. She had to push, had to go harder, _faster_, they had to get _away_ from that place.

_The world outside these marvellous walls is a corrupt, rotting husk. Reason is absent. Instead of order... there is __**chaos**__._

She shook her head, feeling panic break out in the people around her, not caring. She frowned, her teeth digging into her lip, blood trickling down her neck, her hands clenched into fists on the floor.

_You stand in the centre of a great instrument of change. With it I shall remake the world, and my creation shall be __**unrecognisable**__... in its perfection._

_**You**__ are Recruit 273. That number is not random - it was assigned to you because I have broken two-hundred and seventy-two recruits before you. You are nothing more... than the next link in the chain._

Her whole body tensed, pain moving through her, feeling the wind whip violently around the ship, the whole vessel shaking, groaning, swaying dangerously. But she couldn't stop. She had to keep going.

_You __**will**__ obey! You __**must obey**__!_

A hand landed on her arm. She glanced at it, and then followed it to its source. Garth nodded at her, slowly, soothingly, "It's okay. It's alright. We made it. Let go."

She looked up at him for a moment. And then nodded.

The rain dried up. The lightning stopped. The hurricane around them faded to a strong wind, enough to keep them going at a fast pace. She let out a long, slow breath.

Garth gave her a small, encouraging smile, "There. Feeling better?"

She nodded, slowly, "Much."

He held out a hand and helped her to her feet, "We're leaving it, Blade. We're leaving it all behind."

She nodded, slowly. She turned, and watched the Spire, already quite far away, sink into the distance. She turned to him, her eyes locking onto his. Then she looked back again.

_But it's not the __**only**__ thing I'm leaving._ She thought, slowly.


	19. Return

**Return**

The boat docked at Oakfield after little less than a day. Blade let the wind die down, gently, leaving the sea tranquil and calm. They left them on the dock to sail for Westcliff, where most of them lived. Garth waved them off. Blade just stared at the town around her.

When the sailors were out of sight the Will-user came to her side, "I thought I would never see land again."

"Me neither." She looked around her. Everything was so... _bright_. So... _colourful_. She turned to him, sharply, "Can you hear that?" he just raised an eyebrow, and she turned back, "That's... that's water. Running water. Like a... waterfall. And - look!" she ran a few meters away from him, falling to her knees, "Grass! Real, green grass! I've got _grass_ under my hands, look - _grass_!" she got up again, an amazed, awed expression on her face, "Avo, I can _smell __**everything**_. What _is_ that smell? So _sweet_!"

Garth started to laugh. She turned back to him, for a moment surprised, and then shook her head, a smile moving onto her face, "It's _nature_! I _love_ it, I _always_ loved nature! Honeysuckle!" she said, suddenly, another smile sliding into place, "It's _honeysuckle_! That's the smell of honeysuckle! And what's that? Like... like..."

"Mm. Dog."

She glanced at him, frowning slightly but still smiling, "It doesn't smell like dog."

He laughed again, "No, look."

He pointed. She turned, glancing in the direction. Then her heart leaped.

"_BOY_!"

Boy bounded up and jumped her, forcing her to the floor and lapping her face, messily, his paws planted firmly on her chest, keeping her down.

Garth raised an eyebrow, "A friend of yours?"

She laughed, shaking her head, "Boy! _Come here you gorgeous thing_! Oh _Avo_, I _missed_ you, Boy! How you been, eh? Whose been looking after you while I've been gone? Hey?"

"Hannah."

* * *

Blade looked up, slowly, hearing the familiarity of the voice.

The woman smiled, "And _me_, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?" she repeated, slowly.

She smiled again, this time much more genuine, "He's a messy creature. And _loud_."

"Yeah? Bet he chews on the Guild's carpets, too." Her sentence fell into a laugh and she sprung to her feet, completely delighted, moving over to her, "_Theresa_! How _are_ you, how have you _been_?"

Theresa smiled, shaking her head, "Coping. Your furry friend has been coming here every day for a week. He knew that you would return, victorious, even before I did."

Blade turned her attention back to Boy, kneeling back down beside him, pulling him into a rough, fur-covered hug, "Aw, you good boy, you _good_ boy! Who's a clever dog, hey?"

Boy barked his appreciation, worming against her to get out of her grip and then chase his tail for a moment before leaping on her again, attacking her neck with his tongue.

The woman put a hand on her shoulder, "Ten years... Welcome back, my friend. You have done the impossible." She turned slightly, her blind eyes on the floor, "And Garth... I welcome you too."

Garth raised an eyebrow, "Welcome me? You're in my way. So, please, step aside."

Blade forced down a laugh and then shook her head, clearing her throat, a tint of amusement still colouring her voice: "Garth, this... this is Theresa."

"And now I'm back I'm going to be very busy." He replied, his voice just as firm, "I've got a lot of work to do."

"Oh, _come_ on, Garth. Just trust me, okay? Come on. Hear her out." He looked at her for a second, and she shook her head, "It was Theresa's idea to rescue you, Garth. Without her help neither of us would be here."

"You know much about the Old Kingdom." Theresa said, quietly, "Enough to know you cannot destroy the Spire alone. We share a common aim. All I ask is that you listen to what we can offer you."

Garth paused, and then looked back at Blade. He hesitated for a moment, and then the look on her face broke through his resolve and he shook his head, sighing, "Alright, I'll listen. But I promise nothing."

"That's all we ask." Blade replied, soothingly.

Theresa gave a small smile. Then she glanced at her, "I will go with Garth. Hannah is in the inn in Rookridge. Knowing her, she'll be there for the foreseeable future. You should see her before we talk again - she'll be overjoyed to know you're back."

"I'll be overjoyed to see her." She replied, a grin sliding back onto her face, "It's been a long time." She glanced at Garth, putting a hand on his shoulder, "And _you_ - I'll see you at the Guild, yeah? You'll wait to say goodbye?"

He looked at her for a second, and then shook his head, "I'll try my best, Hero."

Theresa smiled, "It is very good to see you again, Jaina."

Blade frowned, "Jaina?"

The woman looked at her for a second, her smile fading, "Ah. The memory loss. Jaina is your name, that is what you were called before Blade."

"My _real_ name?"

"Yes."

"Fantastic. Always wondered."

The smile reached her features again, "You'll regain everything they took before long. Being back here... it will heal you."

She nodded, slowly, "Good."

"Yes. Now. Take my hand, Garth. We have a great deal to discuss."

He raised an eyebrow, still reluctant, "Do I have any choice?" then he shook his head, and took her hand.

They disappeared in a flash of white light, leaving Blade alone. Then she looked down at Boy, smiling. Well. Not _completely_ alone. She put a hand on his head, getting back to her feet, and then looked around her, realising with a small, exasperated smile that she had absolutely no idea where she was.

* * *

"Can I help you, Miss?"

Blade shook her head, slowly, "Uh... I don't know. I'm... I'm looking for Rookridge, and I... well, I've been away for a while, and I'm not quite sure..." she trailed off, looking at him, "Are you... are you okay?"

The monk was staring at her. He didn't reply. She frowned slightly, "Uh... hello?" no answer. "Are you... alright? Sir?"

He shook his head, slowly. He was shaking. "_Jaina_." He managed, finally.

Her eyes widened, "_What_?"

"Jaina! It's... it's really you... You don't recognise me, _do_ you."

She shook her head, hesitantly, "I..."

"It's Lightjoy, Miss, Timothy Lightjoy!"

"Oh! The young monk! Of _course_, how could I forget?" she looked him over, "Not so young any _more_, though. How old are you now?"

"Twenty-seven, Miss."

"Wow. _God_, that's..." she trailed off. Well. _That_ was... weird. He was always the little kid, a little bit vague, a little bit absentminded, but a sweet, good-natured kid. What did they used to call him? The men at the Temple, the Temple of Light, what did they used to call him? Lightjoy... Clouded... _something_. What _was_ it...

She thought for a moment, and then shook her head, quickly, "So how are things doing? How's the Temple?"

"Oh... _blossoming_. It is very..." he looked at her, and then shook his head, "Where have you _been_? You haven't been here... for... for _years_!"

"I..." she paused, thinking furiously fast, "I had a little run in with... some slavers. You know, civilian displacement, work camps... all that."

"_Slavers_?" the boy looked horrified at the very idea, "How _terrible_! Are you okay, Miss?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. But, uh..." she looked around her, her eyes moving over the familiar landscape behind the completely unfamiliar buildings, "It took some time, apparently..."

"That is truly awful. Where did they get you?"

"Westcliff."

"Westcliff?" he said, frowning, "But Westcliff's..." then he shook his head, "Oh, but that must have been a few years back, right?"

"Yes, quite a few, actually, why?"

"Well, a lot's changed, Miss. You might want to go see for yourself, but... there was this guy called Barnum -"

"_Barnum_?" she repeated, incredulously, "You don't mean _the_ Barnum? Entrepreneur? _Thesaurus_ Barnum? With that weird little photobox thing?"

Lightjoy gave a small smile, "Is there any other? His exploits are well known, but this time... this time he really hit it off. Westcliff is completely transformed. It's a tourist place now. He said he got some sort of investment from that Hero, Blade, d'you know her?"

Jaina gave a small smile, "Well, I know _of_ her, of course, who _doesn't_? Is she still around after all this time?"

"Well..." his voice darkened slightly, and he shook his head, sadly, "No. Not really, Miss."

"What? What happened?"

"She went to the Spire." He replied, slowly, "She went ten years back, Miss. No-one's seen or heard from her since."

"Oh." She paused, and then shook her head, slowly, "Maybe she's been delayed. Don't lose hope. She went there to stop Lucien, didn't she."

"That's what the rumour is. Mad as a tree, that girl. Spent all that time talking about Fairfax's evil. And then walks straight up to his door. She doesn't have a lick of sense."

"Maybe she thought she _had_ to." She replied, softly, "Maybe... maybe she thought that he had something more important than her safety. More important that her own _life_."

He shook his head, "What's more important than a human life?"

She gave a small, sad smile, "_Lots_ of human lives."

He nodded, slowly, "I'll give you that, I suppose." He paused for a moment, and then sighed, "Poor girl. Poor lost girl."

"She'll come back."

"How d'you know?"

She smiled, "I can feel it." She put a hand over her heart, "In here. She'll come back."

"Good old Blade."

"Exactly. Good old Blade."

Lightjoy gave a small, soft smile. Then he shook his head, "But never mind that. Back to you, Miss. You were looking for _Rookridge_, weren't you? Has this place changed that much?"

"I just got off the boat," she replied, shaking her head, "Literally, I just got home, I'm a bit... _disorientated_."

"Well, can't help that, can you, Miss. Tell you what, come with me, we'll get you a map."

"Thank you, that's really good of you."

"And while we're at it, you look like you could use a rest."

She shook her head, turning and following him down the road, "No, I'm... I'm fine. I'll take a bed at Rookridge, they've still got that inn, right?"

"The not-so-Lucky Heather? Yeah, they sure do, Miss."

"Not-so-Lucky?"

He chuckled, "You've heard the stuff that's been going on down there? Bandits, highwaymen, Hobbes - that inn's had it all!"

She paused, and then smiled, "Yeah. I guess it has. But it's still going strong?"

"Yep. Guess maybe it _is_ lucky, after all."

"Maybe so."

They reached a small brick house with a wooden door, and Lightjoy knocked, twice.

The door swung open, and an old man with a weather-beaten face looked out, "Abbot! How can I help you today, Father?"

"_Abbot_?" Blade interrupted, turning to him, incredulously, "You never said!"

He frowned, surprised, "It was quite some time ago, I didn't _think_."

"You're a little young, aren't you?"

He glanced away, embarrassedly, "Youngest ever. Only twenty-one when I started. It was a trial thing, mainly; no-one thought it would last longer than a few months."

"But you managed to stay on for _six __**years**_!" she shook her head, smiling, "I'm pleased for you. Really, I am."

He smiled, "Thanks." Then he seemed to realise whose door they were standing at, "Oh, Matthew, this is Jaina, do you remember her?"

The brow wrinkled, "Jaina?" then realisation passed over him, "Oh, _Jaina_! The young lass who helped out with the Temple! Of _course_ I remember you!" he looked her over, quickly, "Blimey, y'all haven't aged a day."

She shook her head, fidgeting consciously with the hem of her shirt, "Now, _that_ isn't true. I look a wreck."

"No, Miss, _never_." Then his eyes moved over, slightly uneasily, "But... what's with..." he nodded at her.

She glanced down, and then nodded, slowly. She'd taken off the thick black jacket and slipped the blade under the shirt to make the whole ensemble look a little bit less obvious, but it was what it was. It was the uniform of a guard, a _Spire_ guard. The Abbot hadn't noticed. But, really, she wasn't that surprised. As good a kid as Lightjoy was, she very much doubted that he'd taken more than a step out of Oakfield his entire life.

This Matthew seemed a bit more astute, and he'd obviously recognised her clothing. She just looked at him, struggling for words.

Thankfully, the Abbot inadvertently came to her rescue: "Jaina was taken by slavers up in Westcliff."

"Slavers?" the man's eyes flickered one more time over her uniform and then back up to her eyes, "Terrible times, lass, terrible times."

"Life is what we make of it." She managed, looking at him, "And I intend to do something with mine. I've been away from this place for far too long."

Matthew nodded, slowly, "Sounds good to me, Miss. Any way I can help."

"Jaina's after a map, Matt, have you still got one to Rookridge, to the Heather?"

"I'll have a look-see. I think I've probably got one somewhere."

"Thanks."

"Thank you." Jaina echoed, nodding. He caught her eyes again before retreating back into the house.

She glanced up at Lightjoy, quickly, wondering if he had sensed anything wrong, seen anything in the man's behaviour. But, typically, the boy's face was blank, looking around at his surroundings with a vague, thoughtful look. Head-in-the-clouds, of _course_, _that_ was what they called him. Head-in-the-clouds Lightjoy.

Matt appeared back at the door, holding out a folded piece of paper, "Here y'are. Should do the trick."

She took it, shooting him a smile, and then opened it up, glancing at it. Her eyes skimmed down to the dock, and, considering where she was now in comparison, she rotated it slightly to angle where she was facing, "So Rookridge is... _here_?"

"Yup."

"So... just follow this path north for about... twenty miles... then take the left fork."

"An' keep walking, yup, that's right. Take a few hours, maybe, but y'all end up at the Heather."

Blade looked at it for a second, making sure there wasn't anything she couldn't understand. Then she nodded, slowly, and looked up, "Thank you. This is very helpful, thank you very much."

"No problem, Miss."

"Will you be off tonight?" the expression on the Abbot's face was nothing but concerned curiosity. The openness after a lifetime in the Spire was refreshing.

"I'll be off right this second, Father. No use wasting time."

"Ah, of course. But you'll come back some day? Pay the village a visit?"

She smiled, "Of course. I'll be back very soon."

"Good. It's been good seeing you again, Miss. But now I must return to the Temple."

"Of course. Good luck."

He smiled, "You too, Miss. Bye. See you this evening, Matt."

"Yup."

"Goodbye Abbot. Thanks for your help, sir."

"Yup. See y'round."

Blade shot him a small smile and turned, consulting the map quickly before following the path. She hadn't gone far when she heard footsteps on the gravel behind her.

"Jaina! Wait!"

She turned, frowning. Matthew was behind her on the path, having followed her. He drew level with her and passed her a brown cloth bag. She opened it, frowning, curiously. It contained a change of clothes - a skirt and a blouse - along with a belt with a holster, a sword holster, a sheath.

She glanced up at him, and he nodded at her, grimly, "Get yourself rid of that uniform, girl. Right this second."

She paused, looking at him, and then nodded, slowly, "How did you know."

"Lightjoy's a good enough kid, but he's still barely outta nappies. I've seen the world, girl. I know how it works. _Get rid of that uniform_."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"And, Jaina?"

She turned back, "Yes, sir?"

Matthew looked at her for a moment, "I used to be a blacksmith, back a few years. A good one. But that blade on your back... never seen anything like it. Only thing that could be is Old Kingdom relics. Legend stuff."

Jaina locked eyes with him. Her heart was pounding. "And?" she asked, quietly. She found herself almost _wanting_ him to make the connection. A Legendary sword, a spell in the Spire, hunting down a very particular Lord? Come on, say it, say her name.

But he didn't say anything. He just looked at her. Then he shook his head, slowly, "Stay safe, Jaina. These are dark times."

She paused, and then nodded, "You too, sir."

"I'm a farmer. I don't need to. You just keep yourself safe."

She hesitated, and then nodded again, silently.

"Good. Now go."

* * *

When Jaina walked through the door to The Lucky Heather, the familiar heavy smell of beer and sweat took her back slightly. She paused, battling vague memories from the Spire, images of cramped rooms, cages and officers. She shook her head, firmly, ridding herself of the memories. Then she turned back to the inn.

It was crowded - surprising considering the many fights she'd got herself into just trying to _get_ to the damned place - and she wound her way round tables and patrons to get to the bar.

The bartender glanced up at her, smiling, "Alright, m'love? What you after?"

She glanced at him, quickly, suppressing the powerful urge inside her to call him 'sir', "Uh... no, sorry, I was just... I was just waiting for my friend."

He frowned, but not unkindly, "Oh, alright then. Who you after?"

"Uh... just... just a friend." She looked around her, "I can't seem... I can't see her."

Jaina paused for a moment, thinking, and then shook her head, "Maybe I missed her. I'm a bit late."

"How long?"

She gave a small, wry smile, "Oh, about... ten years?"

The bartender laughed, and the sound echoed inside her, making some of the tension in her shoulders disappear. She'd forgotten how... _easy_ everything was outside the Spire. There were no collars to detect her lies, no guards to punish her. No rules to prevent interaction. Here everyone was just... _free_.

She smiled again and then backed away slightly, "I'll try elsewhere. Thank you. Thanks for your help."

"Didn't help much, really, _did_ I?"

She shook her head, "Nope. Not really. But thank you anyway."

He laughed, shaking his head and turning back to the bar he had been cleaning, "Alright, m'love, stay safe."

"Thank you."

She turned, making her way back towards the door. She had her hand on the door when an irresistibly familiar voice stopped her in her tracks: "If I didn't know better!"


	20. Nameless, Faceless

**Nameless, Faceless**

Blade spun on her heel. And then froze.

Hannah stood at the foot of the staircase, shaking her head, looking at her, an expression crossing her face that was a strange mix of astonishment and joy, "It _is_ you! It's... it's... _you_!"

"Good observation." She replied, a grin moving onto her face.

The girl laughed and moved over to her, pulling her into a rough, one-armed hug, "You old slag! You're back!"

"Wow, thanks, what a greeting..."

Hannah shook her head and pushed her away, "Oh, shut it." She took a deep swig from a glass of some questionable, brown liquid, and then dumped it down on a table. "Let me take a look at you!"

She circled her, looking her up and down, carefully. Jaina stood still with an amused smile, waiting for the Hero to come back into her line of sight, "Man, you look good, considering. Seriously, you're a bit _older_, though, look like my own _grandmother_!"

"Oh, and like you look like the Temple of Light _yourself_!" then she glanced her over, "Though you do look different - have you changed the hammer?"

She shook her head, smiling, "Ah, who's the funny one, still not lost that sense of humour, I see."

Jaina tilted her head slightly to one side, cockily, "_Well_..."

Hammer laughed. Then she looked at her, shaking her head again, "I... I really can't believe it. You're really here!"

"Yep. Really really."

"And you did it! You rescued Garth! Took your sweet time, alright, but you did it!"

She raised an eyebrow, "Well, thanks..."

"I never gave up hope. Seriously." Then she shook her head, "Well, kind of hard to when every day someone's whispering in your ear about 'their vision of the Hero's safe return'. Honestly, there were a few times there I wanted to _smack_ Theresa!"

A reflexive grin moved over her face. She hadn't felt this good in years. "Yeah. I get that a lot. You weren't there when she met _Garth_..."

"When d'you get back? Dock at Oakfield? Went to see Michael and the gang first, of course, yeah? By the _Gods_, bet _that_ was some reunion!"

"No, I..." she trailed off, her smile fading. Her heart thumped. Hannah had touched on the one thing she didn't want to talk about. She shook her head, slowly, "I... I haven't been back to them yet."

Her face was completely incredulous, "_What_? Then what are you doing talking to _me_ for?! Go on, get back to them!"

Michael.

Brown hair? Blonde? Dark? Green eyes? Blue? Five foot eleven? Six nine? Limp on one leg? Right handed, left handed? Black, white?

No idea.

She shook her head, slowly, "Hannah. I... I don't... _know_ them."

She frowned, "Well what d'ya mean?"

Jaina drew in a long, deep breath, "It's... They... In Lucien's diary, he said he'd found a way to... to solve the disobedience problem. Well... he _had_."

"The collars."

She looked up at her, sharply, "How did..."

"Theresa told me. After you'd already left." She shook her head, a spark of anger and a little bit of desperation moving over her, "I would have told you, you've _got_ to believe me. But I... I didn't know. And then it was too late."

The two women looked at each other. Emotions flew through Blade's mind so quickly she didn't know which one to act upon, "You... knew all along? You knew what he was doing? How he was keeping order?"

She nodded, slowly, "Theresa figured it out. Spent weeks researching it. Though how she did that with the whole..." she waved a hand vaguely at her eyes, "...is beyond me. But she found it. Old Kingdom artefacts. She went to Brightwood Tower, I think. Maybe she found it there. But she figured it out. We talked about it, a bit." Her eyes hovered over her neck, and Blade knew she was looking at the many cuts, scars, the skin rubbed raw, "Is that what it did to you?"

She put a hand to her skin, consciously, "Yes. Among with some... unpleasant side-effects."

"It made you forget. It wasn't just torture, was it. It made you forget who you were."

"I... Yes. Yes, I think it did."

She shook her head, "I'm... I'm so sorry. We just... we didn't know what we could _do_ about it. And, of course, _any_way, we _knew_ you'd be too strong. We _knew_ you'd be able to get through it."

Jaina nodded, slowly, and then moved her eyes up to hers, "But I _didn't_."

The girl looked at her for a second. There was a depth in her eyes that Blade seemed to find unusual. Was she usually not a very deep character, then? From the conversation they had just had, the way she had easily moved into a light, joking, _easy_ description of her rescue of the Will user, her years spent in the Spire, it seemed the two had a strictly no-shop understanding. Keep things simple. Keep things light. Don't talk about troubled times.

Don't talk about the Spire.

Hannah opened her mouth: "Do you remember _me_?" she asked, finally. It seemed like it had taken a lot of effort to do that.

"Yes." She replied, immediately, wanting nothing more than to reassure her, not caring whether it wasn't technically all that true, "Yes, I do. Well. I remember... _most_ of you."

"You called me by my real name." She said, slowly.

Blade frowned. Had she? "I... I didn't mean to. Slip of the tongue. I'm sorry."

"You remember why I don't like being called Hannah?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. I'm sorry."

Too many memories. _That_ was why she didn't like being called Hannah. And, the new name, the _old_ _nick_name, the appropriateness of it... Revenge? That was what she was after, wasn't it? Like her. Both after Lucien. Hammer wanted revenge. Someone had died. Someone she was close to, _very_ close to. But no matter how hard she tried, Jaina could not remember who.

The Hero looked at her for a moment, "You look... different."

She glanced down at herself. She looked a _wreck_. Her skin was pale and ghostly from years without sun and her hair fell down by her shoulders, dull and lifeless. The clothes Matthew had given her, while practical and refreshingly feminine, _screamed_ country bumpkin, and were far too big around her lanky, skeletal frame.

Blade shook her head, "Yeah. I know. I've... I've gone a little bit to waste."

"No." She replied, immediately, "No you haven't."

"I have. It's just... I mean, I _tried_, I really did, but..." she trailed off. Then she shook her head, slowly, "Ten years of my life, just... gone. Wasted."

"They weren't wasted," the girl said, quickly, "They _weren't_. Don't think that. We need Garth. We need Garth to get to Lucien. We _needed_ him, Jaina."

Blade paused, "_You_ used my real name." Something in her tone echoed surprise. Did they not do that, then? Did they both refer to each other only by titles? Were they both just nameless Heroes?

"Yes I did. Now look at me."

Blade obeyed, meeting her hazel eyes. She was looking at her, perfectly seriously, considering her. Then she shook her head, "I'm meeting someone who might have some information on... you know, our number three. We're back in business."

_The Hero of Skill_. Her mind provided for her, readily, and she was glad that that piece of information hadn't left her like so many others in the Spire.

"I want you to go. I want you to go to Bowerstone and find Michael and the kids. I want you to see them. To talk to them. If you can't feel any connection to them after that, then..." she trailed off. She paused, looking at her, and then shook her head, "You look a state."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Here." She handed her five gold coins, firmly, ignoring her automatic objections, "Take them. Eat, sleep. First thing tomorrow morning go out and clean yourself up, have one of those weird waterfall showers you have. Cut your hair. Buy yourself a ribbon or something to cover up your neck. Get yourself back to how you used to be. And, when you've done that... Six Lookout Way. Bowerstone Old Town. Pay him a visit. Please."

Blade's hand closed around the coins. She looked at her. Words couldn't describe the feeling gnawing away inside her. Fear. Anxiety. _Dread_. She shook her head, "What if -"

"That won't happen."

"You don't even know -"

"Yes I do." Hammer gave a small, soft smile, "He kept all your stuff as it was. Tidies your room even though it's perfectly tidy, exactly how you left it. He's put your sword up on the wall. Displayed. The kids know all about you. Every single detail."

She shook her head. She didn't know what to say. "How... how do you _know_ all this." She managed, shaking her head again.

"I see him a lot. I really do. He _wanted_ to. _He_ contacted _me_. Wanted... updates. Wanted to know if there was any news. There never was. But now there is." There was a beat of silence, and she put an urging hand on her shoulder, "_Talk_ to him, Jaina. Please. Just go to him. Talk to him. He deserves that, at least."

"He... brought up my children?" she whispered, eyes locked on hers, "_Our_ children? By himself?"

"Well. We leant out a hand when needed. But he didn't want it. He wanted to raise them himself."

Jaina nodded, slowly, and moved her gaze to the floor. She could feel something inside her she couldn't quite place. "He's a good man." The statement sounded more like a question than she had wanted it to.

"Yes. He is."

Her eyes continued searching out the grains in the wooden boards. This was happening too fast. And yet too slow.

She looked up, searching for some reassurance, whilst, simultaneously, refusing to show she needed any, "Hannah. What do I do."

The Hero gestured to the door with a jerk of her head, "You get the hell out of here. You have things to do, people to see. As soon as I have anything we can use, I'll head back to the Guild and Theresa will call you."

Jaina hesitated, and then nodded, slowly, "Okay. I'll do it." She turned to the door.

"And, Blade?"

She turned back. Hannah paused, and then gave a smile, "Welcome back. I missed you. I'm glad that day at the dock wasn't our last goodbye."

A now genuine smile moved onto her face, "Me too."

"Good. Now get out of here."

* * *

A young girl by the name of Jacqueline Horne saw the woman wander slowly down the streets of Bowerstone Old Town. She was very mismatched: her clothes were Oakfield garb, country stuff, but she had a pretty red scarf tied fashionably around her neck that was _very_ town, and around her waist hung a belt, and from that belt hung a sheathe. A _sword_.

The woman's hair was dark and cut very short, the longest strands just tickling her cheeks, something that struck Jacqueline as _very_ odd - her hair almost looked like a _boy's_! Her body matched her hair, thin and boyish, athletic, with pale, sallow skin. Hard on her heel was a sweet little doggy, a _beautiful_ yellow boy, but even the dog seemed solemn, walking silently without so much as a yap at the quiet streets.

But, despite the couple's very odd appearance, there was something about the owner, something almost _magical_. Thin blue lines shot across the little skin she had on display, glowing like lightning. And there was something in her walk. She walked as if she had seen it all. She was older than her years.

Jacqueline paused, fascinated, watching her from the door.

It was past her bedtime. She should be in bed. She was only down because she had heard Mummy downstairs, laughing. She had tiptoed down the stairs. The door had been open. The doggy had caught her attention and she'd poked her head out to look. That's all, just a look.

The lady passed out of her sight. Jacqueline pushed her head further, watching her, and then - after a glance at Mummy told her she'd be _ages_ chatting away with her friend from down the road - she slipped out the door, following her. The little girl didn't have to be fully-grown to know power and magic when she saw it, and she followed a little way behind, carefully, trying not to let the strange woman see her.

The lady stopped at a signpost, looking at it. She didn't seem to have any idea where she was going. Her lips moved very slightly as she read the strange writings on the signs. She nodded, and turned, moving left, walking even slower now, patting the dog gently as he brushed his nose against her leg. She checked a road sign. Jacqueline looked at it as she passed, her little brow furrowed. It made no sense to her. Never mind. She kept walking, sliding along backstreets, keeping so the white witch couldn't see her.

She stopped at a door. Jacqueline hurried into an alleyway behind her, peeking out from behind the wall. It was quite dark. She could stay here without the lady seeing her.

The number on the door said 'six'. The woman stopped. She put a hand up to the door, ready to knock, and then stopped again. She lowered her hand. She hung her head. Jacqueline couldn't see her face, but she looked kinda sad.

Then the doggy brushed his nose against her again. He licked her ankle, the little bare skin he could reach, and cried.

"Good doggy." Jacqueline whispered, "Knock on the door, lady. He wants you to knock on the door."

The lady looked down at the dog. Her hand petted the fur on his head, behind his ears, slowly. Then she looked back to the door again. She held up a hand, paused for a moment, and then knocked. One-two-three. Too quick, too quiet. Well, they wouldn't hear _that_, would they? Who would hear _that_? Try again, lady. Come on, pretty lady. Knock again.

She didn't. She waited by the door. She had taken a little step back, allowing some room. She waited.

The young girl shook her head, "Open the door. Come on. _Open_ it."

The lady took another step back. Her feet were on the pavement, away from the door. She paused for a moment, and then shook her head, and turned. She was going to leave.

"_Nooo_, don't leave." Jacqueline said again, taking a step back into the path so she couldn't see her, shaking her head, "Don't leave, lady. Wait just a bit more. _Wait_."

As if she had heard her, she stopped. She waited, and then turned back. She was frowning slightly. Had she heard something? Jacqueline hadn't, but the lady was nearer. Maybe someone was coming.

The doggy could hear something. He had begun to cry again, nose fixed at the door, nuzzling it. He could hear something. Someone was coming.

The lady took a few quick steps back, tapping her side. The dog went back to the pavement, back to her heel.

A few moments later, the door swung open.

A girl Jacqueline knew from around town was behind it, a bigger girl, maybe a _really, __**really**_ bigger girl, wearing a pretty little blue dress with long, plaited hair.

She looked up at the lady, slowly, and gave a smile, "Can I help you?"

"Oh... hello... is... is _Michael_ here?"

The lady's voice was nice, but maybe a bit scared. She spoke very quietly, like a mouse. Jacqueline didn't know what she was scared of.

The girl nodded and turned back to the house, "Dad! Daddy! There's someone at the door!"

Another voice came from inside the house, a deep, man's voice, sounding just like _her_ daddy did when he was a bit cross, "Rose Marie, what have I _told_ you! _Don't open the door_! It could be _any_one!"

The lady's eyes were wide, like saucers. Footsteps were coming from inside the house. A man put his hand on the door, a big, tall man, looking back at the little girl. Then he looked at the lady. He stopped still. He looked at her. He didn't stop looking. Not for a second.


	21. Did You Miss Me?

**Did You Miss Me?**

Blade licked her lips. She could hear someone moving up to the door, unbolting it, sliding it open.

It was a girl, a little girl, maybe about twelve, wearing a sweet little blue dress. Her brown hair was pulled back in two pigtail plaits, falling neatly down her back.

The girl's chocolate-coloured eyes moved up to her, and she gave a small, polite smile, "Can I help you?"

Blade almost immediately regretted knocking. But she shook her head, managing to force some words out of her mouth: "Oh... hello... is... is _Michael_ here?"

She could hear the shake in her voice. The girl didn't seem to notice it.

She nodded, smiling again, and then turned back to the house, "Dad! Daddy! There's someone at the door!"

_Daddy_?

Jaina's heart pounded. She leant in a little, craning her neck, her eyes following the girl as she trotted into another adjoining room. The door blocked her vision and she suppressed a curse. Was that... Could that have been... Surely that wasn't...

She stopped herself, pulling back, quickly, as she heard another voice. Much deeper, much older, sounding characteristically male, gently scolding, "Rose Marie, what have I _told_ you! _Don't open the door_! It could be _any_one!"

_Rose_ _Marie_?

She was frozen to the spot. She couldn't move. A hand appeared on the edge of the door, holding it open a little. There was a pause, and muffled clunks. Maybe the person was juggling with different things, maybe he was busy, maybe he was just placing a hand on his daughter's forehead, on _Rose Marie's_ forehead, ushering her back away, turning back round to open the door, oh my _God_...

The door swung fully open. The man behind it glanced once more back over his shoulder before turning his attention to the door, pushing it back so he could see through properly. He froze.

* * *

The mug in the man's hand fell to the floor, smashing into pieces on the wood. Blade's eyes followed it. His stayed on her. She glanced back up again. There was a long silence.

She managed to open her mouth: "Hello Michael."

Michael nodded, slowly. Then he glanced down at the broken apart mug and back, shaking his head, "I... I was just making tea."

She nodded. Of all the things to say. But she found herself incapable of any adequate response. She paused, looking at him, and then glanced into the house, frowning, "The fire's not lit."

"Yeah, I... I was never any good at lighting fires. You... always used to do it for me."

She just looked at him. She didn't know what to say, so she decided for a polite courtesy: "D'you want me to light it now?"

He looked at her, and then nodded, "Sure. Yeah, sure." He paused again, and then shook his head, moving out of her way, "Come in."

She moved into the house, crouching down by the fireplace and lighting it with a small fireball. The dry wood immediately caught, crackling away, easily moving into the look of a fire that had been lit for an hour. Boy, typically, wandered in after her and curled down beside it. By the look of him, he wouldn't be moving for some time.

She nodded, satisfied, let her fingers trail across Boy's head, and then straightened up, turning back to him.

Michael was still standing by the door, the cracked remnants of the cup lying unheeded at his feet. He just stared at her. She looked at him. It was late. His long sandy-brown hair was ruffled, his green eyes strangely strained. Tired. He was wearing cloth trousers and a plain shirt. Probably just making a mug of tea then heading for bed. Maybe the other, the boy, was asleep right now. Maybe the girl was _supposed_ to be in bed asleep right now.

Her eyes moved up the hall, looking for the girl. She could hear clattering in the adjacent room. Michael's gaze followed hers, and then moved back to her, "She's always up late. Should be tired, but she's up at sunrise, on the dot, every day. No matter _what_ time she went to sleep."

He moved round, opening the door, smiling a soft smile as Rose Marie wandered up to him, "Heya, sweetheart. Come on. Time for bed."

The girl nodded, sleepily. Her eyes moved onto Blade, but she was too tired to ask. She walked up the stairs, hand brushing the banister, "Night, daddy."

"Night night, love." He replied, quietly. She smiled, and then continued up to her room. The door shut behind her. Jaina's eyes stayed on the wood, not ready to look away just yet.

Then she moved her gaze back to Michael. He was still looking at her, the door still open.

Her eyes moved around his home, with his pictures, and his furniture, and his children, and she shook her head, slowly, backing away slightly. "This isn't the right time, I'll come back -"

His hand took hold of her wrist, firmly. She glanced down at it. And then back up to him.

"You won't." he said, looking at her. "You won't."

She hesitated. He took a step towards her. Then he pulled her closer, his hands firm and tight on her back, almost desperate, wrapping himself around her, enclosing her, pulling her down towards him into a hug.

* * *

Jacqueline gave a small smile. She paused, waiting for a second, and then turned, tiptoeing out of the alleyway, sneaking away.

She got back to her house, and the door was still open, the fire giving a nice, warm light from inside. She crept into the house, going as quietly as she could up the stairs. She clambered into bed, pulling the covers over her. It wasn't long before she fell asleep.


	22. Desperation

**Desperation**

Blade let him hold her. She didn't know what else to do. She hesitated, and then put an awkward hand on his shoulder. He pulled her closer. Her mouth rested on his shoulder, her cheek pressed against his neck. His skin was so warm after her hours of walking through the cold. She let out a slight murmur, nuzzling deeper into him. She wasn't thinking. She didn't want to think. She was letting herself run on pure instinct, pure emotion.

He was kissing her neck, so gently, just brushing his lips across her skin, dabbing so softly at her throat.

"Jaina?"

She lifted her head. His voice was tight. "Yes, Michael?" she asked, softly.

"This... this is real, isn't it. You are here."

"Yeah. This is real. Sorry."

"Sorry?" His voice was weak, as if she had made a bad joke. He straightened up, pulling back from her slightly. His eyes were red, tears streaked his face.

She saw them and frowned, holding out a hand to him, concerned. He shook his head and moved back out of her reach, sharply.

She mistook the gesture for a spark of anger, and, seeing it in her eyes, he immediately sought to reassure her: "No. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He moved forwards, his lips once again on her neck, gentle pads, so gentle, "I'm sorry. I'm so... so..." his voice was a gentle murmur, so soft, the touch on her shoulders so gentle. "God, Jaina... it's really you... you're really here..."

"Yes. I'm here."

"Ten years. It's been ten years. Did you know that?"

"Yes."

"Do you... I mean, do you want to... _know_ anything, d'you want to _ask_ me anything?"

She pulled back a little, looking at him. She thought about it. Ten years... She shook her head, "Is Darcey still Town Crier?"

He smiled, at first weakly, but then he realised that she was trying to lighten the mood a little, and the expression grew genuine, "Yep."

"Good. Good. And the Cow and Corset?"

"Still run by the Houstons, yes. Bit cheaper now, probably, since you last saw it."

"Fantastic." Then she waited a beat. She looked at him. "The children?"

He looked at her. Then he shook his head, "Rose is eleven. Mattie's just turned ten. Ten and a bit."

"What's he like?"

"He looks like you. Dark hair, brown eyes. Thin, but strong for a little kid." He paused for a second. "He speaks like you."

"What were his first words?"

He smiled, "Cup."

"_Cup_?" she gave a small burst of laughter, and then shook her head, still smiling, "Of course. Of course it was."

"He'll be a regular in the Corset when he's older."

"He sure as hell _won't_." she hesitated a second, and then shook her head, "And Rose?" she asked, softly.

He shrugged. His smile was almost sad. "She's beautiful. _So_ beautiful. Fiery, like you. She's got a temper."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She's _brilliant_ with a sword. For a girl her age."

She glanced at him, surprised, "You taught them?"

"Me and Hannah. Get them ready. You know what she says, every day?"

"What."

"She says, 'When I grow up, I'm going to be a Hero'. Just like her mum."

A tear glistened in Jaina's eye. She blinked it away, quickly, licking her lips. She shook her head, "I... I used to take her for picnics. Down Bower Lake."

"Yeah."

"Can she still fish?"

A flicker of confusion moved over him, "Fish?"

"I taught her to fish. In the river. In the creek."

He paused, and then shook his head, slowly, "No."

She frowned, "I _did_. I _remember_."

He shook his head again, "Jaina, Rose was less than a year when you left. How would she have fished? How _could_ you have taught her?"

Jaina hesitated. The memory she had, the memory she had fixed so adamantly into her brain... that was... _wrong_?

Michael looked at her. He took her hand. "Come with me."

He pushed the front door shut, not caring about the mess of china still on the floor, and led her along a corridor, coming to another room. It was a bedroom. A flash of unease flittered through her far too fast for her to notice it. She looked around the walls. There was a sword on a plaque above the door, a Master Katana. It glittered and seemed to glow in the light of the candles Michael was now lighting.

"This is yours. All of it." He opened a wardrobe by the door, exposing lines of clothing, all somewhat obsessively ordered by colour. He ran a hand over them, "I kept everything as you left it. Just... just in case."

"You never gave up hope." She murmured, softly, her eyes lingering on the blade above the doorframe.

"Of course I didn't. How _could_ I. With Hannah and that Theresa, and Boy... in and out all the time... how _could_ I give up."

He turned back to the room, clearing his throat slightly, "Your books are all here... everything important... your Guild Seal, all your little trophies... Hannah collected the rent from the few houses you owned and delivered it to us, once a week. We barely even _touched_ the gold you left us, so it's all there."

"I don't care about the gold."

"No. I didn't think you would. But, regardless, it's there." He turned back to her, looking her over. The slight tint of desperation in his eyes was back again, something like an innate desire to please, to make her happy, "What do you want? I mean, is there anything... anything..."

Under any other circumstances, Jaina could've smiled. He was still trying to play host? What a man...

She shook her head, "I'm fine. I'm good."

"So am I."

She looked at him, properly. His emerald-green eyes were locked on hers. His skin glowed in the flickering light of the candles. There was a small, thin scar extending from his right eyebrow to his hairline. A lock of his sandy hair had fallen across his eyes, and she suddenly had a deep urge to brush it back, away. Her heart was beginning to pump harder in her chest. For a moment, she didn't know why. Then realisation passed over her.

Michael watched as it moved through her eyes. He didn't seem confused in the slightest. He knew exactly what it was. He knew her well. He took a few steps forwards, removing the space she had put between them. He put his hands gently on her arms, just above the elbow. He felt warm against her still cold skin. He leant forwards.

He kissed her, hesitantly, brushing his lips gently across hers as if he was asking for her permission. She didn't move, didn't object. She didn't know what she was feeling. _Something_. It had been some time since she had last felt this, the sweet, heady shiver moving through her. She didn't know quite what to expect.

He took her silence as consent, kissing her again, a little harder, leaning into it. He moved his hands up to her shoulders, around to her back, pulling her closer. His hands pressed against a cut, a knife slash from a bandit at Rookridge, and she flinched, pulling back, the back of her legs hitting the bed, sharply. She gave a small, vaguely frustrated murmur, glancing down at it. She looked back up at Michael. He'd moved his hand back to her elbows, eyes moving over hers, uncertainly. The very green orbs were filled with concern. He was treating her so... _carefully_. Like a doll, like a delicate china doll.

Jaina hesitated, and then brought herself up to his level and kissed him. He shivered. She felt it run through her. She had to put her hands on his forearms and go up on her toes to reach. He put a hand on her waist to help stabilise her. When she drew back and her heel retouched the floor, the movement slid his hand up, rumpling her top slightly. He looked at her for a second.

He kissed her, pushing her back against the wall. He popped a few buttons of her ridiculous country blouse, glancing at her again for concurrence, and then opened it completely, sliding his hand inside, touching her. He slid a thumb into the side of her bra as his other hand traced the line of her cheek, her neck, her shoulder.

She pulled back a little, letting his touch leave her skin, and then moved her hand up his chest, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt.

He watched the hand move down, "You're shaking."

"Yes."

She loosened the final button, allowing his shirt to fall open. She pushed the cloth aside so she could touch his bare skin. He felt hot, _very_ hot, like he had a fever.

Michael pulled her closer. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, the line of her neck, his hands moving back to her skin, her hips, sliding into her open shirt, crossing around her back, pulling her closer.

She fumbled with her blouse, pulling at the unfamiliar sleeves, finally managing to get them over her shoulders. She let it drop to the floor without looking, clumsily, and then put her hand back on his belt, unbuckling it with the same awkward movements. She felt raw, new, and her awkwardness sent a flush shooting through her cheeks.

He shook his head. He didn't seem to mind. A hand traced her bare stomach. She took in a slow, shaky gasp of air, closing her eyes. A tear trickled down her cheek.

He saw it. "You're crying."

"Yes."

He pulled her closer. He moved his hand round her back and popped open the clasp to her bra without her awkward fumbling. He negotiated the straps down off her arms, letting it fall to the floor, and then moved to her belt, unbuckling it, deftly, pushing it to one side.

Sweet, gentle Michael was fading. He was breathing hard, his breath hot on her neck. He nipped at her throat, and this time did not seem to care as she flinched. His kisses came fast on her lips, giving her little time to breathe, his hands on her neck, over the scarf.

He tried to undo it but she stopped him, quickly. "No." He glanced down at her, confused. She just shook her head, "Please, just... leave that. Everything else. Just... not that."

Michael looked at her for a second, and then nodded, his fervour too much to let him question her. He bit her lip, hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. She yanked her head back and he kissed her again, forcefully, pulling her back towards him.

The kisses the men had stolen in the Spire had been rough and forced, the touches brutal, foreign lips claiming hers. She couldn't help but feel the similarities. Now he knew she wasn't going to pull away, wasn't going to stop him, Michael kissed her like she was the last thing in the world, desperately, passionately, roughly, roughly enough to almost hurt her. His grip was tight, digging into her flesh. He scared her.

But she wasn't pulling away.

One hand moved down to the line of her skirt, and he was pushing it down, yanking at it when it got caught on her hips. He was wearing everything while she was wearing close to nothing. She didn't care.

He pushed her, and she felt the back of her legs hit the bed again. She sat, quickly, an attempt of stopping him forcing her backwards, but it didn't work. He came down with her. His kiss was firm and had more than a pinch of urgency.

Easily, he pushed her back against the bed, kissing at her neck again.

"You're so goddamned beautiful." His voice was a low growl, muffled by her skin.

She retreated slightly under the covers and he let her, following her. He was on top of her, heavy and firm, pushing her into the mattress. He was letting out murmurs, low groans, a long, soft purr as his tongue traced a line from her collarbone to her cheek.

Jaina shivered as his hand followed her body, moving down to her hip. She couldn't help but feel that, maybe, this wasn't quite how a relationship was supposed to go. That it was his desperation that was powering him, almost _fear_, fear that this all wasn't real, fear it was a dream. This was Michael, her husband, the father of her two children, their protector, their carer. For ten years.

After ten years, who was she to deny him?

She let him vent his fear, his desperation, head back against the pillow, breathing hard through her nose as his mouth seized hers and he pushed himself fiercely inside of her.

Afterwards, Michael lay there for a moment, spent, panting slightly, leaning his forehead on her chest, eyes closed. Then he rolled over, freeing her, moving his body seemingly automatically close behind hers. His arm fell over her stomach, almost possessively. His breathing lessened, and then fell into an easy, rhythmic pattern. Within minutes he was asleep. Jaina laid awake, eyes tracing the soothing glow coming from the sword framed above the door.

After a moment, Jaina sat up and silently blew out the candle, leaving the room in darkness.


	23. Old Echoes

**Old Echoes**

_Sparrow_.

Blade sat bolt upright with a gasp, her hand clasping at her shoulder, the mark of the bullet there. It was dark, so dark. She couldn't breathe. She paused for a moment, stilling her thumping heart, her panting breaths. She looked around her. She hesitated. Then she let out a low, weary sigh, and fell back down onto the bed.

She gave her eyes some time to adjust to the darkness. The comforting glow from above the door soothed her, lulling her back into a state of calm. It was dark, very early, she'd probably not even had four hours sleep yet, but she'd had enough. She looked to her side. Michael was lying with his back to her, curled slightly, his side rising and falling as he breathed.

She paused for a moment, watching him. She knew he was asleep. Slowly, she moved the cover off her, moving her legs off the bed. The wooden floor felt cold against her bare feet, and, as she stood, she picked up a robe that was slung carelessly over a chair near the bed, sliding it over her bare skin. She tightened the cotton belt slightly, looking around her. She moved over to the bookcase. Her fingers easily found her Guild Seal in the dark, tracing over the engraved patterns.

The metal grew hot under her touch.

_Ah. You can hear me. Excellent._

Blade tightened her grip on the medallion. Theresa.

_Hammer has learned the location of the Thief. Return to the Guild as soon as you can._

She paused, and then nodded, slowly. She took the Seal into her hand, slipping the lace over her neck. She took a second to feel the familiar weight of it around her neck, and then turned to the cupboard, the one Michael had said contained all her things.

She opened it, silently, and then conjured a small fireball in her hand, instantly surrounding it with a small shield of Will. She dimmed it until it showed only a faint light, and looked through the clothes. It held the most interesting variety, from a pauper's bodice to proper gentleman's shirt. She rifled through, picking a characteristically mismatched outfit - shorts, a corset, a crop jacket, and long, thigh-high boots. She had dyed them all a violent shade of blue, even visible in this light, and, after a short pause, she also picked out a noble lady's hat of black.

Her golden ballroom mask was on the table with her clockwork pistol. She picked them up and tucked them into the belt that she found sprawled across the floor.

Jaina closed the wardrobe, slowly, making sure it didn't creak, and then moved away from it. She went to move back to the bed and then stopped. She hesitated. Then she let the robe she had put on slip to the floor. Concentrating, she increased the light of the fire in her hand, just a little.

Her reflection shone back at her from the mirror. Her now very short hair was mussed, dark strands stuck with sweat to her cheeks. Her eyes traced down herself. She turned slightly, getting a vague look at her back. Ten years... What was once pure, strong skin was now a pallid covering. What that damned hybrid at the Spire had noted to be fresh and scar-less was cut apart. Her back bore the brunt of their beatings, thick, pale scars extending down her spine. More markings covered both wrists, the marks of handcuffs and rope when she had been bound and left in isolation for weeks on end. Ten long years.

So it's _punishment_ you're after, is it? Then I'll _oblige_.

She shook her head, turning away from the somewhat painful image - and the painful memories it brought. She sat down on the edge of the bed, silently, taking care not to awake the sleeper behind her. She dragged on the collection of clothes, frowning slightly at her own choice. It was an odd change from her Spire guard uniform to this. It was almost... _provocative_. The corset, the boots, the so-short-shorts... what was she trying to prove? That she could still wear her femininity with pride? That was a joke. Any glimmer of femininity she had once had had been bleached out long ago, and she never really had much to _begin_ with.

Jaina pulled on the long boots. Maybe she had bought this outfit during an uncharacteristic burst of spontaneity. Maybe it was an old relic of a much younger self. It didn't matter. She had chosen these clothes instinctively. She would wear them, and she would wear them like she always did - like they were made for her.

"D'you know what our Rose says more than 'I'm going to be a Hero'?"

* * *

Jaina paused, hands still on her laces. Her heart had instinctively started pounding, forcing blood around her body in case she had to fight. She hadn't realised he was awake. She was getting rusty.

And, in the Spire, being rusty could be the last thing you did.

She forced up a smile, not fully turning to him, just glancing back at him over her shoulder, "What?"

Michael looked at her, perfectly serious, "'Is mum going to be back soon'."

Her smile faded. She hesitated, looking at him. Then she turned back to her laces.

"And now you're leaving us again. Aren't you." There was a pause, and she heard him shake his head, his voice developing anger and a tint of disgust that tore through her heart: "How could you _do_ that to them. How could you do that to _me_?"

"I have to go, Michael." Her hands were shaking. She kept messing up the knot. "Theresa needs me at the Guild. We have to find the third Hero."

He got to his feet, picking up the discarded robe she had been wearing and slipping it over his arms, standing some distance away from her, out of her direct sightline, "The Thief, yes, I know. Hannah told me. The _Hero of Skill_." He gave a small, strange sounding laugh, "In these past years I've learnt more about your life than I would have _ever_ learnt from _you_. Did you know that?"

She said nothing. She hadn't told him? Had she not trusted him? No, it couldn't be that. The love she held for him, and he for her... that was real, wasn't it? So why had she not confided in him? Was she worried what he would think? Worried for his safety?

Was she scared for him?

Her hands shook, and she kept biting her lip. She made it look as if she was still tying the damned strings, but in reality her fingers were trembling so much she couldn't concentrate.

"It's Lucien. Isn't it. Before, I wouldn't have minded. I _didn't_ mind, Jaina. I _understood_, you _told_ me, and I _understood_. But now..." below the anger, she could hear a faint plea to his voice, "_Ten years_. Your daughter, your _son_. You can't abandon them now. You can't leave me again."

She swallowed, thickly. Then, even though it cut through her heart, she forced her voice to sound calm: "It _is_ Lucien. It's _always_ Lucien. And I need to find this Hero to stop him."

"Jaina. This isn't you. Why have you... How..." he paused, and then shook his head, anger burning through him again, "How could you be so _cruel_? What the hell _happened_ to you in that place?"

She froze. The laces fell unheeded to the floor.

Michael seemed to sense her emotions. Her fear, her pain. He knew he was getting somewhere. He shook his head, starting to move over to her. Quickly, she shoved the still undone laces into the sides of her boots, got to her feet, and fled the room.

* * *

Blade managed to find her way through the house, hearing him hot on her tail, moving swiftly towards the door.

He stopped her, putting a rough hand on the door over her shoulder, forcing it back shut. She tried to open it again and he just shoved it shut, moving around her a bit and pushing his shoulder firmly in the way of the door.

Michael looked at her, his green eyes intense, "What happened in the Spire."

She shook her head, her voice quiet: "Get out my way."

"Not a chance in hell."

Her resolve flickered, and she shook her head, "Please, Michael. Let me go." Her voice was fading slightly, losing control.

"What _happened_ to you." He repeated, slowly.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she could do nothing to stop them. She shook her head, pulling away from him, "Michael, _please_. Move on. Leave me behind." She shook her head again, disgust moving through her, but not for him, "I don't even know why I _came_ here, I'm so _stupid_, I should _never_ have come! I'm so sorry."

"How can you _say_ that. How _can_ you." He shook his head and moved closer. She retreated, immediately, but he continued, cornering her. His eyes flickered over her, clocking her distress and her tears, and she could tell he was forcing his empathy down. He shook his head, and, as though instinctively, leant down and pushed his lips to hers. She jerked back and slapped him around the face, hard.

There was a pause. But he was made from tough stuff, and, though he flinched back, he didn't make a sound. He watched her for a second, and then shook his head again, almost desperately, "Jaina, I _love_ you."

"You _can't_ love me." Her voice was fierce. She pushed anger into it, forcefully, put daggers into her words.

"But I do."

"But _I __**don't**_."

He shook his head, immediately, "You're lying." He moved closer, putting his mouth back to her throat, nuzzling in the crook of her neck, catching her hand as she tried to hit him again, remarkably fast, "I know you're lying."

She fought ferociously with his grip, trying to continue her hit, "I'm not."

"Yes you are. You're my _wife_, Jaina, and I _love_ you. And you love me."

"I don't even _remember_ you!"

* * *

That hit hard. Michael paused. Then he pulled back, looking at her, his eyes searching out hers.

Blade shook her head, forcing up anger, forcing up the vicious, cutting edge to her that she knew was the only way to give him any sort of release from her, "I didn't even remember your _name_. I didn't know the kids and I didn't remember where we lived. Everything has _gone_, Michael, I don't even _know_ you!" she hesitated, and then ploughed on, knowing she had to, feeling pain and so sharp guilt slicing through her at the look on his face, "How can I love someone I don't know. How can I love a stranger."

"What are you talking about." His voice was quiet, and held the faintest sign of a shake.

She shook her head, angrily, and ripped the red scarf from her neck, throwing it to the floor. His eyes widened with concern, pain, and something close to fear as he saw the deep, dark scars across her skin, the cuts, the burns, the wounds that the collar had sliced into her.

Then she moved swiftly to the now spent fire, taking a handful of soot and spreading it thickly onto her left forearm, rubbing it in. Black covered her skin, and then she brushed it off, in quick, sharp jerks. Most of the black faded, leaving her skin a dull chrome, but the dust stayed in the scars in her skin, and that one word, the word she had carved into her own flesh, came out so easily readable in the thick dirt.

"Look at it. _Look _at it. That's what I did to try and remember. And the cuts on my neck? That's what the _Commandant_ did to make sure I _didn't_." she found the collar clipped onto her belt, and tore it off, showing it to him, "It's _this_. _This_ is what made me what I am."

He looked at it, "I don't understand."

"_This is what it is_! This is what took my memories! I didn't know _you_, or the _kids_, or this goddamned _place_, I didn't even know my own goddamned _name_!" The cold metal on her palm made her shiver, but she ignored it, firmly, and pressed it into his hand, "Feel it! Go on! See what it felt like!"

Michael adjusted his grip on the collar, instinctively. It squeezed, still containing the slightest amount of its Old Kingdom magic, and he cursed as it started to burn against his skin.

Without thinking, Blade stepped forwards, burying one of her hands in the collar with his, and then forced it shut.

* * *

Pain burned through her, squeezing, tearing at her wrist, and there was an echo, the slightest echo, the echo of the pull she'd felt that first day at the Spire and all the days after it, the pull on her stomach and her mind. But an echo was strong enough. Michael's hand tightened on hers until she could feel her bones crunching. She knew he could feel it too.

There was the voice again. And, instead of fighting it this time, she embraced it, viciously, knowing it was only an echo, knowing it could never hurt her.

_The world outside these marvellous walls is a corrupt, rotting husk. Reason is absent. Instead of order... there is __**chaos**__._

Jaina saw a frown move onto her husband's face, a grimace, wincing at the pain in his wrist and fighting with the screaming in his head.

_You stand in the centre of a great instrument of change. With it I shall remake the world, and my creation shall be __**unrecognisable**__... in its perfection._

_**You**__ are Recruit 273. That number is not random - it was assigned to you because I have broken two-hundred and seventy-two recruits before you. You are nothing more... than the next link in the chain._

He was giving a quiet murmur, like a soft plea, hands pushing at the collar, trying to get her to release it. Blade held on, firmly, despite the pain, despite the calls within her head.

_Obey! This man __**must die**__._

_Everyone has their breaking point. And I __**will**__ find __**yours**__._

Pain pierced her as the Commandant cut blades down her flesh, slicing into her, breaking her fingers, vicious floggings, blood pouring from her back. She cried out, but kept her hands down on the collar, ferociously holding their hands together.

_You don't fear pain. Threats. Humiliation. You don't fear the less... __**tasteful**__ orders the __**others**__ try and put you through. So what __**do**__ you fear?_

"No." He managed, his voice a low murmur, "Jaina. Stop. Stop it."

She couldn't. She was standing in front of all those officers, circling her, smiling, laughing, reaching out, grabbing her, lips on her neck making her skin crawl, hands roaming over her body freely because she couldn't stop them, they had her hands, her arms, forcing her to stay still, an order, they gave an order, laughing, but no, she couldn't, she couldn't - pain, pain of the collar, tightening around her neck - _you must obey_! - on the floor, cold, hard stone, she couldn't move, couldn't _breathe_.

And then she was in that room, that cold, empty room, completely silent, walls on all sides of her, head on her knees, throat raw from screaming - _begging_ - at the silence, shaking, rocking herself to a broken sleep.

"Jaina. No."

Bob was lying on the floor in front of her, eyes open but unseeing, dead, and hot, bitter tears spread down her cheeks as a hole was driven into her heart, so deep.

_Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Your links. Y'know, the funny thing is, I don't even __**need**__ the collar to get rid of them. All I need to do is __**this**__._

Her friend, he was all she had, her only sanity in this madness. But he wasn't separate from it. The madness had entered _him_.

It's a _mercy_, 273. Think of it that way, if you will. _Look_ at him. He's in _pain_. Put him out of his misery.

No. She didn't have the strength. Didn't have the nerve. Couldn't stop his pain, couldn't help him, couldn't stop the Commandant, and now he was dead, and it was all her fault.

_One scar. Just one scar._

Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie. Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie.

M'lord? What's happened? What's that light?

"Jaina, you have to stop this. Stop it now. Come on."

_Michael. Rose Marie. Mattie._

_What_? No, wait! _NO_!

"_Jaina_."

_MichaelRoseMarieMattieMichaelRoseMarieMattie_

Darling baby honey dear cutie love dearest pet beloved precious sweetheart babe missy toy princess sugar sweetie, come on what d'you say let's go have a bit of fun come on you know you want to don't make me come down there, aw she's such a little sweetheart so scared so vulnerable so alone. Oh, so you're name's _Blade_ is it how cute how sweet, you got yourself a man back home, honey? No? Oh, that's a shame - pity crime shame pity.

Come on, little thing. Let's play.

* * *

Michael lashed out, catching the metal and yanking it away from them. The collar flew off their hands and they were both thrown in opposite directions across the room, Blade smashing into the fireplace and Michael forced back into the stairs. She felt her head crack back against the cold marble and she fell to the floor, panting for breaths, red hot pain burning across her hands, her back, her head. She'd hit it hard. She felt darkness enveloping her.

Come on, little thing. Let's play.

She lost consciousness.

* * *


	24. Coffee with Cream

**Coffee with Cream**

Blade awoke the warmest and most comfortable she had been in ten years. Despite that, the instinct drummed into her after three thousand six hundred and fifty-two nights in the Spire took hold, and she sat bolt upright. It was pitch black and she unthinkingly succumbed to the impulse, "_Shit_, I'm awake. I'm awake, I am, I'm awake."

"It's okay."

She jerked her head round to the voice, desperately, "Sir? Officer? I'm awake. I am."

"It's okay, Jaina."

She hesitated. She looked around her. Her eyes hadn't adjusted yet. She took a few slow, deep breaths, thinking quickly. Then she remembered. She fell back on the bed, closing her eyes. Avo. Her head. _Avo_.

Her hand slid along the sheets and then hit something. She frowned, and reached out, grabbing it. She brought it into her hands, feeling it. A knife had been tucked into the mattress by her hand, six inches, flat blade, jagged edge, tucked into a small cloth sheathe, just like she always used to, so long ago.

Blade never liked to be without a blade.

She paused for a moment, feeling it, and then propped herself back up against the headboard. She still couldn't see properly, but she ran her fingers over the knife in her hands, almost thoughtfully, "How did you know."

"Are you joking? Married for almost two years. Pistol under the pillow, knife slid into the side of the mattress. You thought I wouldn't notice?"

She put her hand under the pillow and brought out a small clockwork pistol. She clicked out the cylinder and shook it into her hand. Three bullets slid neatly onto her palm, cold and smooth. She paused, and then pushed them back in, blindly, deftly, shutting it with a flick of her wrist.

Then she frowned at her palm. There was a thick bandage tied over her skin, wrapped tightly around her hand. She turned it over, looking at the other side, and then shook her head, yanking at it.

Hands bearing the same medical attention as her own reached out to stop her, "No, don't. Leave it. It hasn't healed yet." When she let go, he withdrew, settling back in his chair, "It wasn't that bad. You left a few of those health drink things, and I'm used to you showing up wounded. It'll clear up completely before long."

Her eyes were starting to adjust. Her arm, once rubbed black with soot, was now completely clean, her skin feeling soft and lightly perfumed. A thin bandage was wrapped around her head, and, though she was aware of the place she'd hit it, it was nothing more than a slight ache.

She glanced down. She was in a long, cloth shirt and blue shorts, her shoes and corset having been removed and placed beside her on top of the small chest of drawers. Next to her clothes on the floor was a bag, a big, camping bag, full and, by the looks of it, quite heavy.

She looked at it for a moment, and then glanced up, "What's that."

Michael paused, and then nodded to it, "I packed you a bag. Everything's in it. If you want to leave... I won't stop you."

"Why the change of heart."

He didn't reply. Blade kept her eyes on the bag. Beside it was a golden crossbow, Master class, a repeater. A good weapon, and probably augmented, considering the shine. Next to that was the sword from the wall, the Master Katana, still glowing with its faint light.

After a moment, she looked back up, "I said some things that hurt you, didn't I."

"That isn't what this is about."

"Yes it is. Partly."

There was a pause, and then a low, weary sigh, "Maybe. I just..." he drew off, and then shook his head, "I don't know."

She nodded, slowly. Then she shook her head, "Michael, I... I'm sorry."

He looked up, "What for."

She gave a small, emotionless laugh, "Many things. But... I'm sorry for..." she made a vague gesture at his hand.

He glanced at it, seeing the bandage, gently running a thumb over it, "Don't apologise. It was the only way you could have made me understand."

"_Do_ you understand?"

A small, half-shrug, "A little, I suppose. I can't understand fully, I mean... that thing... every day, every night... for ten years..."

"Mm."

"It's just... I can't..." he shook his head, "I can't imagine it. And... I know it must be... must be _infinitely_ hard for you."

She shook her head, retreating a little into the headboard, suddenly feeling very bare in front of him. She had never liked to talk about her emotions, about her feelings. Maybe she was a bit like Hammer in that way. Don't talk about dark times. Do not mention the Spire.

She could tell he'd sensed her physical and emotional retreat, and he seemed to draw back a little, but he couldn't keep his questions to himself for long. He hesitated, and then shook his head, "That... that thing... the Will user... who was he."

"The Commandant?" she heaved a sigh, shaking her head, "I don't truly know. Garth called them _amalgams_. But, basically, they're like... humans with bits of Spire... threaded through their flesh. They're... what we would become. If Lucien had his way. The Commandant was the first of these... _Spire Beings_."

"Amalgams?" he gave a small, hollow laugh, "Spire Beings? Spire Humans?"

"Yes. Lucien's little private army."

Michael shook his head, "Call them whatever you want, they're monsters." he said, firmly, "I _saw_ him, I saw what he did to you. He was pure evil."

"No." She whispered, "No. The Commandant wasn't a monster. That's the worst of it. He wasn't evil. He just... obeyed. He was obedient."

"Then he's _mad_!"

"Quite probably! He'd been _sliced open_, infused with Will, _Avo_ knows what it would have done to him!"

"But..." he hesitated, and then shook his head, "He... still _did_ all those... those _horrors_!"

"Yes. But he didn't enjoy them. Of course, he didn't _not_ enjoy them. He just... did it because he was told to."

"That's insane."

"I know."

"You sound like... you sound like you're... making _excuses_ for him."

_Everyone has their breaking point. And I __**will**__ find yours._

She instantly bristled, "Of _course_ I'm not! The things he did were inexcusable! But..."

"But?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

She paused, and then let out a low sigh, shaking her head, "He had a collar." She replied, dully, "Just like all the others. He was a slave, just... more obedient. More trusted."

"Like the Officers."

She had been expecting this, waiting for it right from the beginning with baited breath, but still she had no answer prepared should he ask the question she was waiting for.

"I suppose." She said, slowly.

Please. Please don't. Please don't ask me. Please.

But she knew he was going to. He was her_ husband_. He _had_ to. No matter how hard it was.

His eyes were tracing the floor. He was strong, so brave, keeping it together, but he needed a bit of time to get the words up. He licked his top lip, biting it. In any other setting, maybe she would have found it endearing. _Had_ she found it endearing? Before... all this?

He looked up at her. Pain sparked across his face. He opened his mouth, "Did you..." No, not the right words. Eyes back to the floor again. Another try: "When you were in the Spire... did anything... did you... did the Officers..."

He couldn't do it. She could see that now. She had to take pity on him. She didn't want to. Hell, she couldn't think of anything she'd like to talk about _less_ than her stint in the Spire.

C'mon, Blade, tell us about the Spire! Tell us about your ten years of hell! Tell us about being the only woman there, about the Commandant, about the Officers, about how they thought you were just an object, just _'the new toy'_, about how they tried with the collar so many times just to see if they could make you crack, to see how far they could push your limits, see if they could -

She tore her eyes away from his, moving them to the floor. She pulled in a deep, fortifying breath, and took on the quiet, factual monotone that she knew would help her through this: "I don't know. Not that I'm aware of."

"You can't remember? Did the collar...?"

"No. Well, yes _and_ no." Jaina lifted her head, "The collar... I couldn't endure many activations. Seven, towards the end. In the beginning, only three. After, I would... fall unconscious. I would pass out, it would just... it would be too much. I can't help what happens to me after I lose consciousness. So... I can't tell you. Not truthfully. Not for sure."

Michael's emerald eyes pierced hers. Her husband. He was looking at her with something in his eyes that she couldn't name. Too many emotions flickered over him, she couldn't keep up.

"Do you feel disgusted by me?" The question was simple, open, unbelievably direct. For a moment she didn't realise that the words had come from her mouth. When she did, though, she kept firm, looking at him, her eyes calculating his eyes, locked onto his every emotion.

More emotions flickered over him. Hurt? Guilt? She couldn't tell.

Then he shook his head, slowly, "No. Never. It's... I know it's not you."

Blade's eyes narrowed very slightly. He... wasn't lying. Was he. Ten years spent figuring out deceits, catching onto the tiniest change of timbre in voices. She was a fast learner. She caught on quick.

And Michael wasn't lying.

She didn't speak, just kept her eyes on him. He paused, and then shook his head, looking down at the floor, "D'you remember the last time we saw each other? Before... before you left?"

"_When will you be back?"  
_"_I don't know."  
_"_Days? Months? __**Years**__?"  
_"_I don't know."_

She shook her head, slowly, "No."

"You turned up here. After going through that damned Crucible. I was worried _sick_, I was... _so scared_. But you turned up on the doorstep with that goddamned smile of yours and a trophy the size of your head. _Avo_, I _hated_ you then." He gave her a gentle smile and she returned one, "You'd brought a small Jade to put in the necklace you were making Rose Marie, and a wooden sword for Mattie. You had a Bandit's balaclava tied around your arm and a White Balverine tooth hanging round your neck by a chain."

"The Crucible." She said, slowly.

"Yes. And we went for a walk, leaving the kids with Lloyd down the road."

"We were in a garden." She said, suddenly, shaking her head, "A little garden. Fenced off. A... stream? Water?"

"Yeah. A little alcove kind of thing up the road. Not many people knew about it, we used to go quite often. You kept up the act, kept up the idle conversation, and then... then you told me what you were going to do."

"I... told you I was leaving for the Spire."

_This is about Lucien, isn't it?_

"Yes. I... tried to convince you against it, of course. But I knew I'd never change your mind. You had to go, I saw that." He paused for a moment, thinking, and then shook his head, "The first year was the worst. And then... every year, on the day. I couldn't help it, I... went to the Guild. I wanted to be around the people _you_ had. I used your Seal. Shot apart a few beetles and spent a few hours wandering around caverns the first time. The times after that I used the Cullis Gate. Hammer and that Theresa... they were a great help, I guess. If not a bit of a pain. _Theresa_, that is." He saw her glimmer of a smile and returned one in kind.

She paused, and then shook her head, "But you... you coped. Yeah?"

She knew he had suffered. But she couldn't bear the thought of him hopeless, crumbling beneath the pressure. He wasn't that sort of man.

He nodded, "Yeah. More or less. I started... picturing everything about you. Y'know, so I wouldn't..."

"Forget?" she completed, giving him a small, wry smile.

"Yeah. I'd picture you. Your hair, the way you dressed, that weird mix, that stupid mask, walking so tall, that dumb mutt of yours at your heel."

"Hey." She scolded, gently. She glanced at the door, towards the 'mutt' in question. Probably hadn't heard a thing, still sleeping, the lazy sod.

He smiled, "But you know what I kept coming back to? Your eyes." He lowered his own, "Clichéd, I know, but I just... I've never seen anyone with eyes like yours before."

"That's stupid."

"Really?"

"Yeah. They're bog-standard brown."

"No they're not."

"Yes, yes they are."

He smiled again, and then shook his head, almost hesitantly, "We've had this conversation before. Do you remember? Do you remember what I called them?"

_What colour are your eyes?_

She shook her head, slowly, "Tell me."

"Coffee with cream. That's what your eyes are. Coffee with cream."

"_**Michael**__, come __**on**__! They're __**brown**__!"  
_"_**Look **__at them! They're like... creamy... browny sort of... light... hazelly mahogany."  
_"_Hazelly mahogany? What the hell kind of colour is __**that**__? That's not a colour that's a __**parable**__!"  
_"_Well __**I **__don't know! They're... sort of... coffee... milky coffee... like... coffee with cream."  
_"_Coffee with cream?"  
_"_Yeah. That's __**exactly**__ what they are. Coffee with cream."_

Coffee with cream.

She looked at him. Was that a real memory or a Spire-induced lie? So many of her memories had been warped, changed, erased completely. She couldn't tell any more.

But the way he was looking at her made her feel it was. He was looking at her like he knew, like he knew she remembered.

Her eyes flittered over the room. It was much brighter now, and warmer, too. She glanced at him, "What time is it?"

He stood up and walked over to the window, reluctantly, pulling back the curtains a little, "Pretty much sunrise." He waited a beat. "The kids will be up soon."

She nodded, slowly. She didn't know how to reply to that.

"Will you... will you see them? Talk to them, I mean?"

She shook her head, almost sadly, "What would I say?"

He didn't reply. He _couldn't_ reply.

"I've been such a bad mother." She murmured, softly.

"No." He replied, immediately firm, "No. No, you haven't. This wasn't your fault."

"I disappear for half their lives and you think I'm a _good_ mother? Sorry, Michael, but that's bullshit, and you know it."

"This wasn't your fault." He repeated, shaking his head, "You didn't ask for this."

"But it happened. And it's time I start dealing with it." She took in a slow breath, "I need to talk to them, don't I."

"I think so. I think... I think they'd love it if you did. Of course, I could talk to them first, y'know... fill them in. Tell them what's going on. If you want."

"You're their father, Michael. I couldn't think of anyone more appropriate to be by my side in this. If you're okay with that."

Michael nodded, "Yeah. Yes, of course. I just... What are you..."

Jaina shook her head, "I don't know. But... I'll have to say _something_. It's not fair to leave them like this, not now I... Not now I'm here."

She shook her head again. Her fingers had found the Guild Seal around her neck, unconsciously, and she was feeling out the piece of ribbon that tied it around her neck. She glanced down at it, tracing the engravings on the metal, slowly.

He saw. Michael paused, looking at the Seal for a moment. "I hate that thing."

"I know."

"You said Theresa had called you back to the Guild."

"Yes."

He took in a slightly shaky breath, "What d'you think you're going to do."

She looked at him, and then shook her head, "I don't know. What do _you_ think I should do?"

"Stay." He said, immediately, "I think you should stay. I _want_ you to stay. I mean... if... if _you_ want to."

She paused, looking at him. Then her eyes moved over to the bag by the door, packed, sword and crossbow by the side. Her fingers itched to take her blade. Reflex.

She shook her head, and went back to the Seal, taking it in her hands. Once again, she felt the metal grow hot, and she murmured her ally's name, quietly. Theresa gave her customary greeting, and then, for a moment, Blade stayed silent, thinking about what to say.

"I... I need to ask you something. Yes. No, I don't... I just... Yes. Yes, I do. Well. Here it goes..."

A frown moved over her husband's face. She knew he couldn't hear the other half of the conversation, and she didn't enlighten him.

She paused, thinking through what she was about to say, and then shook her head, "I want seven days. No, no arguments. Just seven days. A full week. You owe me, Theresa." There was a long pause, and then she nodded, slowly, "Thank you." She released her grip on the Seal, letting it fall back down onto her skin. She raised her eyes to his.

Michael was looking at her, something unnameable flittering through his eyes, "You... you... chose me. Over Lucien."

"Well. Lucien _is_ over twice my age." She was making a valiant attempt at light-heartedness, but even she could feel how bitter the joke was.

He shook his head, "All these years... your quest... I just... I know how important it is to you. To _every_one."

"Yeah. Well. It'll wait a week, right?"

He paused again, "Right."

She looked at him for a second, and then shook her head, "There's... there's not going to be any... any sort of _magic fix_. But... I'm willing to work on it. With you."

He flushed slightly. It was like almost... _pride_. Relief.

_No,_ she realised with a shock, _That's not what it is. It's __**love**__. That's... __**love**__._

She shook her head, ridding herself of the thought. They had a long way to go. Walls of thick stone stood between them. All that happened in the Spire, all that happened here. Ten years of pain, for _both_ of them.

Michael was the first to break the silence. He looked at her for a moment, hesitated, and then shook his head, "D'you think..."

"What." She asked, quietly.

"D'you think... we'll ever... get back. Back to how it used to be."

She nodded, thoughtfully, "Well. I don't know. I'm no Seer. Sometimes I think it'd be better if I had listened to Theresa reading the fate cards a bit more closely when I was young."

He managed a small smile. She clocked the effort. Then she shook her head, "Y'know what? I think so. I think... I think we're already on the way there. Y'know why?"

His voice was so soft. "Why."

A single tear slid out down her cheek. "I remember your name."


	25. Epilogue: Diary Extract III

**Epilogue - Diary Extract III**

Day Three.

Three days of this. Three days of pure Bowerstone. Three days of peace, with no struggles, no collar, no Commandant, no officers. Three days of just... nothing. It felt more incredible, more pure, than I could ever have imagined in the shadow of the Spire. I can feel this place healing me, just as Theresa said it would, a healing that can be performed by neither Will nor potions. This was mental healing. Wiping away the past and setting a shining light on the future.

I am amazed how much is coming back. It took me only a few hours walking these streets before I knew them by heart, and a trip to the older part of the town brought back many deep-set memories that I'd thought were long lost. So little in this town has changed, a few new statues, new people, a few changing of hands in houses, but, apart from that... everything is just... right.

One thing has changed - I guess that the citizens of Albion are not as obtuse as I thought. A passing chat with the Town Crier gave me a vital piece of information: they know who I am. And, you know what? I'm not even worried. Jaina-Blade Blade-Jaina, what difference does it make? If Lucien hadn't already made the connection, he sure as Avo will have now. His pet sorcerer is broken out by yet another Will-user? He's hardly stupid. He'll know.

The thought, which once would have filled me with unease, now powers me with a sort of grim expectation. I know now that it was always going to lead to this. This was always going to happen. And, though our victory came at a price, Garth is free, and we're only one Hero away from ending this for good. The thought spurs me on. We're nearing the end.

The Hero of Skill... the third Hero... Theresa told me Hammer had obtained his location, mainly from her tour of all of Albion's bars, it seems. Bit of a legend, then, our Hero? Maybe. Seems a little odd, though. Hannah hadn't even _known_ about her prowess, and Garth had the sense to keep quiet about it. His powers of Will are astounding, as is Hammer's pure strength and vigour. They are both forces to be reckoned with.

I find in myself a deep anticipation at finding this new mark. From Hammer's ferocious, unbreakable enthusiasm to Garth's dry sarcasm, no matter how grateful I am to them both, one hopes our Hero of Skill will be a new breed. Though, with Theresa's prediction - the Thief - maybe those hopes are wasted. Of course, he still is a Hero, and I cannot condemn him yet. I will reserve my judgement for our first meeting, which Theresa has told me must be soon. Despite her obvious anxiety to get out quest back underway, she has kept to her end of the bargain - she has allowed me seven days.

Seven days. Depending on how it goes, those days could either drag so slowly or go past like lightning. And with the children... things get so much more complicated.

I've met them. I've met my beautiful Rose Marie, my handsome Mattie. They're turning into proper fighters. Carrying their mother's blood, Michael said. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Carrying a Hero's blood. Michael said it was good.

Tomorrow I'll take them to Bower Lake for a picnic. We'll sit by the stream and I'll teach Rose Marie to fish and help Mattie with his aim, teach him to take out beetles on the other side of the river, and Avo help any bandit that interrupts us.

Blade is back.


	26. x Author’s Note x

_**x Author's Note x**_

Not quite as long as Mbea after all! I'd love to hear what you think, comments, messages, love-it, hate-it, a comment is a comment!

'Memories' was inspired by the disturbing lack of Spire stories on this site - what's with _that_?? - and also this weird castle thing in Wales that reminded me of it - when I figure out its name I'll be sure to put it here.

* * *

**Thanks to:**

*** Fable II** - a game I have actually fallen in love with - waiting with baited breath for III!

*** SeventhSanctum**

*** **The **Fable** **wikia**

*** ****Xcalizorz's Fable II** **videos** - if you haven't heard of this guy, check him out on Youtube, a real help, great for when you just missed something said and can't be bothered to go through the whole game to find it again :D

* **Microsoft** - as evil and corrupting as it may be, it really helps to have a word processor and a good spellchecker backing you up.

*** Karin Slaughter **- an amazing author, and an inspiration.

*** The Commandant** - you may be creepy and weird, but you make a great writing character.

*** Michael** - for being there when Sparrow needed you, and for having the strength to let her go.

And **you** - for coming along for the ride. Thanks a bunch :)

* * *

**Love and kisses,**

**VArwen**


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